[ 'Remake you,' only there was an argument to be made that he did precisely that. Spoke the bastard's name and so ushered him into the world anew. There was responsibility behind what he'd done. All that talk about consequences, the lessons he'd half-learned so long ago, swam back into his head and left him thinking that this was his own fault, after all. He'd set out to change things. And hadn't he done just that?
Maybe he should have killed the bastard. Withstood Billie's arguments and persuaded her to drive the twin-bladed knife through the Outsider's long-chilled heart.
And there the little shit goes, making himself at home and and sifting through Daud's store of carefully organized food. Or, okay, not carefully organized. More like haphazardly stacked or strewn on shelves. Still, he knows where everything is. Where everything was, until the Outsider got his hands on it. ]
I expect you're the same as you ever were. Disappearing when it suits you. Stopping in when you want food or entertainment. A laugh at the old man who broke his life into pieces for you.
[ His jaw's clenching again (what he said is true and isn't true at all, and he knows it), and he refocuses his attention, scans the Outsider's tidy piles of tins. ]
The food isn't to your liking.
[ There might be a smirk in his voice. Between years holed up in ruined buildings as an assassin and years of ceaseless travel in exile, Daud had learned to live off whatever rations he could scrape together. He's beginning to gather that the Outsider's developed more particular tastes. Well. Maybe the little bastard'll learn there's nothing for him here. Leave Daud in glorious silence.
(Daud isn't sure he'd want that, really. Isn't sure he'd be glad to see the Outsider go for good.) ]
no subject
[ 'Remake you,' only there was an argument to be made that he did precisely that. Spoke the bastard's name and so ushered him into the world anew. There was responsibility behind what he'd done. All that talk about consequences, the lessons he'd half-learned so long ago, swam back into his head and left him thinking that this was his own fault, after all. He'd set out to change things. And hadn't he done just that?
Maybe he should have killed the bastard. Withstood Billie's arguments and persuaded her to drive the twin-bladed knife through the Outsider's long-chilled heart.
And there the little shit goes, making himself at home and and sifting through Daud's store of carefully organized food. Or, okay, not carefully organized. More like haphazardly stacked or strewn on shelves. Still, he knows where everything is. Where everything was, until the Outsider got his hands on it. ]
I expect you're the same as you ever were. Disappearing when it suits you. Stopping in when you want food or entertainment. A laugh at the old man who broke his life into pieces for you.
[ His jaw's clenching again (what he said is true and isn't true at all, and he knows it), and he refocuses his attention, scans the Outsider's tidy piles of tins. ]
The food isn't to your liking.
[ There might be a smirk in his voice. Between years holed up in ruined buildings as an assassin and years of ceaseless travel in exile, Daud had learned to live off whatever rations he could scrape together. He's beginning to gather that the Outsider's developed more particular tastes. Well. Maybe the little bastard'll learn there's nothing for him here. Leave Daud in glorious silence.
(Daud isn't sure he'd want that, really. Isn't sure he'd be glad to see the Outsider go for good.) ]