[ Katrina can't quite disguise the look of pleasure on her face when he turns to her. She has his attention - yes, his faux-ire, but his attention nevertheless - and she thinks she can probably hold it for a while.
So she nods along with his list of arguments against the evils of suburban male life, once again entertaining a mockingly pitying expression, faint pout to keep the smirk at bay. It's true, he doesn't have a license (how many people in Manhattan do, though?) and hell, golfing sucks.
...But she would like to know how he got himself 'banned' from it, because she's sure that's not a hyperbole. She's also sure his brothers have something to do with it, because she seems to recall her father has gone golfing with them. They're golfers.
Lame.
Katrina herself does not golf. It's tedious: a lot of waiting and angle trajectory that would be more fun on a pool table. If she wants to swat tiny balls - no euphemism intended - she plays tennis. Or softball, though finding people who want to get a softball team together is much harder at 28 than it was at 19. And the batting cages just aren't the same.
She starts to make some comment about Wallace's face, and it's probably a pretty incisive and funny comment - something witty, something to make him laugh - but his sudden horror at the loss of his ring hits...
Hard.
A flicker of surprised something, not quite hurt but certainly it didn't feel good, passes across her face, and she regards her hand, that ring on her hand, for a heartbeat or two. ]
I mean. You can have it back, if you really want it.
[ She doesn't want to give it back. She.
It's her wedding ring. It's tacky and ugly but it fits just right, better than any ring she's ever owned, and it's...She wants it.
And she's not above fixing him with a full-on pout, or letting him know that deviants need to make some sacrifices for their very pretty deviant secret monster wives. ]
no subject
So she nods along with his list of arguments against the evils of suburban male life, once again entertaining a mockingly pitying expression, faint pout to keep the smirk at bay. It's true, he doesn't have a license (how many people in Manhattan do, though?) and hell, golfing sucks.
...But she would like to know how he got himself 'banned' from it, because she's sure that's not a hyperbole. She's also sure his brothers have something to do with it, because she seems to recall her father has gone golfing with them. They're golfers.
Lame.
Katrina herself does not golf. It's tedious: a lot of waiting and angle trajectory that would be more fun on a pool table. If she wants to swat tiny balls - no euphemism intended - she plays tennis. Or softball, though finding people who want to get a softball team together is much harder at 28 than it was at 19. And the batting cages just aren't the same.
She starts to make some comment about Wallace's face, and it's probably a pretty incisive and funny comment - something witty, something to make him laugh - but his sudden horror at the loss of his ring hits...
Hard.
A flicker of surprised something, not quite hurt but certainly it didn't feel good, passes across her face, and she regards her hand, that ring on her hand, for a heartbeat or two. ]
I mean. You can have it back, if you really want it.
[ She doesn't want to give it back. She.
It's her wedding ring. It's tacky and ugly but it fits just right, better than any ring she's ever owned, and it's...She wants it.
And she's not above fixing him with a full-on pout, or letting him know that deviants need to make some sacrifices for their very pretty deviant secret monster wives. ]
But it's my wedding ring.