He straightens up, already lit up with pleasure at the opportunity, and opens his mouth to tell her a story. One where he was waiting behind a door to catch and strangle a man, but he could hear him playing with his daughter and felt the weight of his decisions pressing down until he snapped, all at once, and left his mask and his knives behind on the floor when he ran; one that isn’t true, but might be satisfying.
And then he catches himself, about to ruin Honesty Hour like a tool, and closes his mouth, and deflates just a little while he takes a drink.
“I was tired,” he says. “I wasn’t going to climb any higher. I could afford it. My partner—Ines, you met her—we’d spent all day arguing about slant rhyme, and she was being insufferable.” Jenin was there, too, but that’s not just his bit of honesty to dispense. “It was horribly hot, and the masks make it worse.”
"It took a full month for my skin to recover from those two weeks in a mask in summer," Yseult recalls darkly. "They ought to make the job easier but I would have quit years ago."
She's joking, kind of, but lets it fade into a more serious silence, considering his honest answer. "And now? If it weren't for the invasion, would you have come back to it? Or were you happy for an excuse?"
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And then he catches himself, about to ruin Honesty Hour like a tool, and closes his mouth, and deflates just a little while he takes a drink.
“I was tired,” he says. “I wasn’t going to climb any higher. I could afford it. My partner—Ines, you met her—we’d spent all day arguing about slant rhyme, and she was being insufferable.” Jenin was there, too, but that’s not just his bit of honesty to dispense. “It was horribly hot, and the masks make it worse.”
no subject
She's joking, kind of, but lets it fade into a more serious silence, considering his honest answer. "And now? If it weren't for the invasion, would you have come back to it? Or were you happy for an excuse?"