"Thank you. I appreciate it." The Socialite watched her go, then entered the washroom, leaning up against the washbasin, the door closed. He turned on the faucet, did the necessary washing up, then left it running as he stared into the mirror. Tired. Old. Flakes of dried blood sticking around his eyes where he'd lain his arm. His grip on his mask was loosening.
Perhaps, if he pretended he was doing better, Jane would let him leave early. Mori braced against the washbasin and let his weight shift over to his injured side. Lightning almost immediately shot up the side of him, bring tears to his eyes and nearly cracking his nails with the force he gripped the basin. They bit their lip to keep from crying out in agony. That marsh-wolf did a real number on him and the wounds wouldn't let him forget. He swore under his breath and shifted the weight back over.
There was no pretending around that. They were well and truly stuck in a kind and giving Hell. How else could they manage this time? What did he need to focus on as his priorities?
Firstly, the bag, left on the couch, unlocked, in the open. For now, it was a lost cause. After dinner, he might be able to secure it, but it was currently unguarded. Second, Mori's own mood. Jane was already put off by the quick fluctuations, he could tell. She knew something was up. It would be impossible to keep perfectly situated all through dinner, so to what degree could he allow openness? Thirdly, and of course this would likely arrive as a dinner or brandy topic, the assignment. The crime against nature and the laws of reality. If she asked... Good lord, if she asked... Would he even be able to lie?
no subject
Perhaps, if he pretended he was doing better, Jane would let him leave early. Mori braced against the washbasin and let his weight shift over to his injured side. Lightning almost immediately shot up the side of him, bring tears to his eyes and nearly cracking his nails with the force he gripped the basin. They bit their lip to keep from crying out in agony. That marsh-wolf did a real number on him and the wounds wouldn't let him forget. He swore under his breath and shifted the weight back over.
There was no pretending around that. They were well and truly stuck in a kind and giving Hell. How else could they manage this time? What did he need to focus on as his priorities?
Firstly, the bag, left on the couch, unlocked, in the open. For now, it was a lost cause. After dinner, he might be able to secure it, but it was currently unguarded. Second, Mori's own mood. Jane was already put off by the quick fluctuations, he could tell. She knew something was up. It would be impossible to keep perfectly situated all through dinner, so to what degree could he allow openness? Thirdly, and of course this would likely arrive as a dinner or brandy topic, the assignment. The crime against nature and the laws of reality. If she asked... Good lord, if she asked... Would he even be able to lie?