They put flowers in my hair and joined my merry company, the children of those streets.
[Yes, he remembers it, too. The words that stung with anger and with hurt. The truest side of the fiercest Marchioness, who hurled all that childishness back in his face and made him suffer for it. But not again. Never again.
She's right to hesitate. She's right to feel guilt. This was her fault.
Even so, he can't find the frustration to blame her for it. Indeed, sipping his tea, shutting his eyes, he appears very much at peace, at the prospect of leaving the place where he's no longer welcome and finding his way home again. He has come to terms with his situation and perhaps he should really be thanking her for that slap in the face—it woke him up in more ways than one.
He still would wish her off the face of the earth, but only with his hand dangling after her, ready to scoop her back up again.]
Do you see them? By the window. They were gifts given to me by people who'd call themselves my friends, but the truth of the matter is...
[Those eyes are strangely soft once they open. Reminiscent of a far away time he'll never reach again. Infinite and boundless, bloody and red.]
...I don't have any here. It must wound them too.
[And he doesn't look the slightest bit sorry for it. Only sorry for the one friend he's left forever behind.]
no subject
[Yes, he remembers it, too. The words that stung with anger and with hurt. The truest side of the fiercest Marchioness, who hurled all that childishness back in his face and made him suffer for it. But not again. Never again.
She's right to hesitate. She's right to feel guilt. This was her fault.
Even so, he can't find the frustration to blame her for it. Indeed, sipping his tea, shutting his eyes, he appears very much at peace, at the prospect of leaving the place where he's no longer welcome and finding his way home again. He has come to terms with his situation and perhaps he should really be thanking her for that slap in the face—it woke him up in more ways than one.
He still would wish her off the face of the earth, but only with his hand dangling after her, ready to scoop her back up again.]
Do you see them? By the window. They were gifts given to me by people who'd call themselves my friends, but the truth of the matter is...
[Those eyes are strangely soft once they open. Reminiscent of a far away time he'll never reach again. Infinite and boundless, bloody and red.]
...I don't have any here. It must wound them too.
[And he doesn't look the slightest bit sorry for it. Only sorry for the one friend he's left forever behind.]