[ There it is: there's the bit that's sad to hear. It shows in his face, even old and fucked-up as he is. Some great and mournful pity tightens the lines around his eyes and his mouth, and his gentle grip on Terry's wrists squeezes for a moment, a little clasp of sympathy. ]
I believe it. [ And now the drop: ] I bet your John does, too.
[ He releases Terry's arms, the pressure lifting slow to match his steady tone. He's ready for this to go sideways in new and horrible ways, watching the man's eyes and waiting for either clarity or rage to overtake them. There's no fear in his face, only a funny mix of curiosity and that tired pity.
He doesn't, in the end, look anything like John Kreese. ]
no subject
I believe it. [ And now the drop: ] I bet your John does, too.
[ He releases Terry's arms, the pressure lifting slow to match his steady tone. He's ready for this to go sideways in new and horrible ways, watching the man's eyes and waiting for either clarity or rage to overtake them. There's no fear in his face, only a funny mix of curiosity and that tired pity.
He doesn't, in the end, look anything like John Kreese. ]