[Since when were they talking about stuff like that, fairy tales and wanting someone and whether or not--and where'd this idea bubble up from?--she's boring?
Her pacing makes him feel trapped, which he tolerates for all of three seconds before he stops tapping his fingers on the back of her chair and gets up, too, crossing soundlessly to the window. Therion stands there, holding his elbows, looking down four stories at the grounds below instead of at her, at her emotion and energy.]
It's not about your taste. Or anyone else's. Or about how squeaky clean you know I'm not.
[Without thinking about it, he draws one of his arms up until the metal of the shackle presses through his hoodie into his collarbone. Only then does he half-turn to look at her over his shoulder.]
But Jolyne, what else can you even really say you know about me?
[The scars on his back, hidden under everything he wears, face her nonetheless.]
no subject
[Since when were they talking about stuff like that, fairy tales and wanting someone and whether or not--and where'd this idea bubble up from?--she's boring?
Her pacing makes him feel trapped, which he tolerates for all of three seconds before he stops tapping his fingers on the back of her chair and gets up, too, crossing soundlessly to the window. Therion stands there, holding his elbows, looking down four stories at the grounds below instead of at her, at her emotion and energy.]
It's not about your taste. Or anyone else's. Or about how squeaky clean you know I'm not.
[Without thinking about it, he draws one of his arms up until the metal of the shackle presses through his hoodie into his collarbone. Only then does he half-turn to look at her over his shoulder.]
But Jolyne, what else can you even really say you know about me?
[The scars on his back, hidden under everything he wears, face her nonetheless.]