Like he misses Stiles. The constellation of moles on his cheek, the charmingly American dialect that always had an interesting fact to share or a joke he didn't quite get, the expressive bounce of his dark brows. They don't come from the same kind of life or even from the same century, so they don't have the same kind of shared history that he suspects lies between Wriothesley and the one he misses now.
The last fragment of porcelain clatters into the shattered shell with a handle attached, and Pinocchio rises with the soft crik-crik-crik of buried springs. ]
Both of them. [ The sound of his voice implies it's spoken directly to the back of Wriothesley's head, and then when it softens, it seems he has tilted his head down or away. ] What a blow to take at once.
[ Another chatter of buried clockwork and he's stepping away, searching for somewhere to place the broken teacup. Somewhere it won't find the tender part of an unwary hand, where it won't get swept off to shatter worse on accident. ]
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Like he misses Stiles. The constellation of moles on his cheek, the charmingly American dialect that always had an interesting fact to share or a joke he didn't quite get, the expressive bounce of his dark brows. They don't come from the same kind of life or even from the same century, so they don't have the same kind of shared history that he suspects lies between Wriothesley and the one he misses now.
The last fragment of porcelain clatters into the shattered shell with a handle attached, and Pinocchio rises with the soft crik-crik-crik of buried springs. ]
Both of them. [ The sound of his voice implies it's spoken directly to the back of Wriothesley's head, and then when it softens, it seems he has tilted his head down or away. ] What a blow to take at once.
[ Another chatter of buried clockwork and he's stepping away, searching for somewhere to place the broken teacup. Somewhere it won't find the tender part of an unwary hand, where it won't get swept off to shatter worse on accident. ]