She shakes her head as she takes a seat across from him. Being lovers had been like an ice bath thrown on her conflict with William; she might have denied it with warning, too.
"It doesn't always make sense," she replies. She mulls over telling Arthur that William assumed he'd broken her arm, but maybe that's an unhelpful sort of honesty. "I don't know. You're a warden. Just be the bigger man, the rest of it is his problem."
"It's just pictures, but they sure as hell can mean a lot. Damn shame you
lost all'a that. But you was a cute kid," he adds, to lighten things a
little.
That drags a laugh out of her, though it’s well under her breath.
“Yeah, lots of pictures of me from dance classes in frilly dresses, and covered in birthday cake, and swimming and all that.” She shrugs, lets her gaze drift off a moment, comes back sharp. “Stopped being cute a long time ago, too.”
“You never needed to be cute, ‘cause women peak at twenty and men peak in their fifties or something,” she replies, wryly. “I’m sure people believed that in your time as much as they did in mine, yeah?”
“You can’t say that shit after I’ve seen you dressed up nice,” she informs him. “Not that I ever bought into you being ugly in the first place. Top ten, remember?”
Hard to imagine anyone so self-depreciating having a big head. Hard to imagine anyone getting pissed off at her and coming back and playing nice. God, she could kill Ellie for thinking this guy is anything like Joel. Polar opposites, most of the time.
She doesn’t pull away.
“Uh huh. Top five now, at the least. Geralt went home a while ago. Butcher’s ticking me off. You’re doing just fine.”
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"It doesn't always make sense," she replies. She mulls over telling Arthur that William assumed he'd broken her arm, but maybe that's an unhelpful sort of honesty. "I don't know. You're a warden. Just be the bigger man, the rest of it is his problem."
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"I try to be. I ain't the one who smacked him in the head, on account of not being invisible."
He probably wouldn't have done it anyway. Probably.
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"That guy loves everything he can torment me with," he grouses, reaching for his coffee.
"Thanks for this. How's the arm?"
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"You need pain medication?"
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"Good. Great."
He takes a sip of his coffee, debating the right words. It takes a while, but eventually he says:
"Thank you. For the photograph."
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"You're welcome. I figured you'd like it, you being sentimental and all," she replies.
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He snorts and flips her off. "Nothing wrong with holdin' on to good memories."
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"Do I? Everyone's got pictures. Even William."
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"Yeah, well, you and William both do it better than me, then."
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"What kinda pictures would you want, given the opportunity?"
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"Family pictures, I guess. My childhood, family vacations, my parents, whatever I had on my phone that last normal year. Joel."
Sounds like torture to her, always being able to look back on that.
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"You had a lot of 'em? Lost after the outbreak?"
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"It's just pictures, but they sure as hell can mean a lot. Damn shame you lost all'a that. But you was a cute kid," he adds, to lighten things a little.
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“Yeah, lots of pictures of me from dance classes in frilly dresses, and covered in birthday cake, and swimming and all that.” She shrugs, lets her gaze drift off a moment, comes back sharp. “Stopped being cute a long time ago, too.”
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"Well, that don't matter. I don't think I was ever cute, so at least you're one step ahead of me."
He was kind of a feral kid.
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"Well, I always figured I was gonna be dead by then, so I let myself go early," he quips. But yes: he recognizes that.
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"Right, right. I try not to hang on to compliments too long, less my head get too big."
Aw damn. He reaches out to pat her arm, just because he has to do something.
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She doesn’t pull away.
“Uh huh. Top five now, at the least. Geralt went home a while ago. Butcher’s ticking me off. You’re doing just fine.”
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