[ Charles closes silvery scissors with the same negligent gentility as folding a fan, blandly ignoring internal assessment as to how much like shit he might indeed look, already feeling it. Conversely, he prefers Erik like this -- with his wits, livestock or no.
He sets his scissors aside. In a few minutes, they'll fade from reality, without his notice.
It's Erik that has his attention. ]
To Van Rijn, [ he fills in. If Erik is ready to talk, he will try to help pave the way. ]
no subject
He sets his scissors aside. In a few minutes, they'll fade from reality, without his notice.
It's Erik that has his attention. ]
To Van Rijn, [ he fills in. If Erik is ready to talk, he will try to help pave the way. ]