"Well, I won't have to think about doing 'kegels' even once, I will just rely on the amazing hydraulic press I'll build into my robotic vagina."
"That's how I'll build my power base. Yes, put your dick in right there - vrrt - you don't want to lose it? Swear your loyalty, then."
"You're right. I was thinking too small before. I will bring it up to Rhys posthaste. Thanks for the brainstorming session, Tess!"
Did you wanna threaten me? [ He sounds open to it. ]
[ A pause. With no discernible shift in tone: ] Wanna come over here?
You know where it is. [ Time to shove a knife in his boot and make the bed. ]
"I'll just steal a hot dog from the dining hall. There's no need to be cruel." Said with the most devious possible smirk.
As intimated, the door doesn't invite knocking—wrought iron over frosted glass—but there's nothing to stop her from pounding on the wall. The interior has nothing in common with his counterpart's room: a large gently lit bedroom, lavish without being excessive, the colors muted—browns, golds, a little blue. The furnishings are abundant, the flourishes elegant. Mirrors and so forth.
There's a clutter of personal effects on the dresser, some books on the nearest nightstand (it's the other nightstand that has the framed pictures). William, dressed as he usually is save for the hat, steps aside without a word. Keeps an eye out for blood, gauges how she holds herself.
“Who started it?” he asks, wry but not unsympathetic.
There's a clutter of personal effects on the dresser, some books on the nearest nightstand (it's the other nightstand that has the framed pictures). William, dressed as he usually is save for the hat, steps aside without a word. Keeps an eye out for blood, gauges how she holds herself.
“Who started it?” he asks, wry but not unsympathetic.
He wastes no time in shutting the door behind them. “Sit on the bed if you want,” he says. Break something if you want, he doesn't say. It'd take the satisfaction out of it.
It's strange and it isn't, her in here. It's just some place he wanders in and out of; someplace he sleeps when there's no alternative. Without Juliet it's nowhere, it's the house he haunts. “She looked okay.” He doesn't bother trying to smile. Too late to soften anything. “You know how old she is?”
It's strange and it isn't, her in here. It's just some place he wanders in and out of; someplace he sleeps when there's no alternative. Without Juliet it's nowhere, it's the house he haunts. “She looked okay.” He doesn't bother trying to smile. Too late to soften anything. “You know how old she is?”
“Five years.” He watches her closely, turning the number over in his head. Thinking it through again—dying for some unknowable future, some vision of a changed world. Discovering it had just ground on, stubbornly refusing to transform. He remembers—he's still half in love with her idealism. Those fireflies on her wall. “I'm sorry the world let you down.”
He does smile then, knowing as he does that it's woefully inadequate. Pocket change in the midst of opulence.
“A lot of this was the decorator.” He delivers it without an ounce of irony. She's going to punch him in the mouth. He'd welcome it, too—it's that kind of a sentence. William stays where he is a moment or two, hesitating between the man who belongs in this room and the one who doesn't. Crosses to Tess, reaches for her, expecting her to snap.
“Don't take shots at her,” he says, looking steadily at her. “All right?”
He does smile then, knowing as he does that it's woefully inadequate. Pocket change in the midst of opulence.
“A lot of this was the decorator.” He delivers it without an ounce of irony. She's going to punch him in the mouth. He'd welcome it, too—it's that kind of a sentence. William stays where he is a moment or two, hesitating between the man who belongs in this room and the one who doesn't. Crosses to Tess, reaches for her, expecting her to snap.
“Don't take shots at her,” he says, looking steadily at her. “All right?”
His arms drop to his sides. He lets her push him, not ragdoll loose but offering no resistance. He has his explanations, his limping excuses. “I care,” he says, the bottom dropping out of his voice. Thinks of Logan jamming that picture in his pocket. They don't fight like this, him and Juliet. They don't blow up.
He swallows, sick to his stomach. “You're the only person I've invited in here,” he says. Falters helplessly into a shrug. “And look what a mistake that was.”
He swallows, sick to his stomach. “You're the only person I've invited in here,” he says. Falters helplessly into a shrug. “And look what a mistake that was.”
"And then they'll rue their days as they're forced to bend the knee! Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha ha!"
Hange is having a good time here.
Hange is having a good time here.
He doesn't look like a cowboy, not just then. He looks tired, diminished, a guy in a fancy outfit with no trace of dirt near his boots. His hair catches the light. “When I'm here...” The sentence floats off.
His gaze flicks to her clenched fists. “Break my nose.” A nod, strangely delicate. As though he's trying to balance something on his chin. “Go ahead. I'm not some cute little girl, they won't give a fuck.”
His gaze flicks to her clenched fists. “Break my nose.” A nod, strangely delicate. As though he's trying to balance something on his chin. “Go ahead. I'm not some cute little girl, they won't give a fuck.”
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