[ The acrid stink of cigarette smoke is not entirely unfamiliar to him. It clings to Wriothesley's fingers, it lurks in his hair. The cool, blue light that the watery scene casts over him suits him, even if the sight gives him pause for its surreality.
Then again, all of Pinocchio's memories of deep water were smothering and cold ones, footnotes in a book heavy with death and rewound time. It's not there for his benefit, but he presumes it may be for the boxer.
Pinocchio's fingers ease away from the handle of the knife hidden inside the waistband of his pants, under the drapery of a tucked shirt. Wriothesley's troubling smile may have an external cause, but it's none he can see, let alone fight. ]
No, [ he lies. That isn't the point. ] I like the new quarters. [ And that's not the point, either. His eyes drop to the shattered cup. It looks more to him like a consequence, a symptom. Something that whispers he's upset, even as his clockwork brain is confused by his smile. It's his Ergo that intimates that the smile lies about as much as he does; Pinocchio isn't in the meticulous state of dress he often is found in — just a simple Darcy shirt with a ruffled, deep-cut collar, high-waisted pants, simple black socks and leather shoes. Nary a waistcoat or lacy cravat to be found when he draws near, shutting the door behind him.
Or tries. He's done nothing about what was wadded up to keep it from latching. ]
no subject
Then again, all of Pinocchio's memories of deep water were smothering and cold ones, footnotes in a book heavy with death and rewound time. It's not there for his benefit, but he presumes it may be for the boxer.
Pinocchio's fingers ease away from the handle of the knife hidden inside the waistband of his pants, under the drapery of a tucked shirt. Wriothesley's troubling smile may have an external cause, but it's none he can see, let alone fight. ]
No, [ he lies. That isn't the point. ] I like the new quarters. [ And that's not the point, either. His eyes drop to the shattered cup. It looks more to him like a consequence, a symptom. Something that whispers he's upset, even as his clockwork brain is confused by his smile. It's his Ergo that intimates that the smile lies about as much as he does; Pinocchio isn't in the meticulous state of dress he often is found in — just a simple Darcy shirt with a ruffled, deep-cut collar, high-waisted pants, simple black socks and leather shoes. Nary a waistcoat or lacy cravat to be found when he draws near, shutting the door behind him.
Or tries. He's done nothing about what was wadded up to keep it from latching. ]
What happened? You used our word.