[It's not that he's mistaking the plea for flirting (they're both sitting on the edge of an awkward awareness, alike in so many ways save for that stark and severing singularity), but the earnestness with which Prior makes his case has Richie's ears burning. The color threatens to spread to his cheeks. He's not used to such begging. Most people that get fond of him start taking potshots to show their affection. What else do you do with a profane jackass like him? He had to be shut down, not egged on.
And really, the guy is just too sweet. Fuck, it is hitting his cheeks. The rare case of the aw shucks has hit and he can't do much to allay it except chuckle through his embarrassment and dodge meeting Prior's eyes for a second. Let him regroup, pal.]
You know, ordinarily I'd say you have a point, but the problem is we've got the same faults. Neither one of us can keep our mouths from running and we're both too keen to poke at scabs. It's better just avoided.
[He keeps fumbling over Byerly's sore spots by accident, and the other man is too clever to keep off the scent of his own. He'd had enough interrogations about the days of yore. Nothing would ruin a party quicker than a snarling match over the fate of Georgie Denbrough.
Why couldn't there be any useful magic around here? Splash the waters of Lethe over them both and erase ever knowing one another. The stuff keeping the worst of his childhood under lock and key wasn't generous enough to extend the favor.]
But I'll split the difference for you. Someone upstairs saw fit to give me a few records and a turntable. If you promise to have them back to me and in mint condition, you can play them in between rounds on the harpsichord. How about that?
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And really, the guy is just too sweet. Fuck, it is hitting his cheeks. The rare case of the aw shucks has hit and he can't do much to allay it except chuckle through his embarrassment and dodge meeting Prior's eyes for a second. Let him regroup, pal.]
You know, ordinarily I'd say you have a point, but the problem is we've got the same faults. Neither one of us can keep our mouths from running and we're both too keen to poke at scabs. It's better just avoided.
[He keeps fumbling over Byerly's sore spots by accident, and the other man is too clever to keep off the scent of his own. He'd had enough interrogations about the days of yore. Nothing would ruin a party quicker than a snarling match over the fate of Georgie Denbrough.
Why couldn't there be any useful magic around here? Splash the waters of Lethe over them both and erase ever knowing one another. The stuff keeping the worst of his childhood under lock and key wasn't generous enough to extend the favor.]
But I'll split the difference for you. Someone upstairs saw fit to give me a few records and a turntable. If you promise to have them back to me and in mint condition, you can play them in between rounds on the harpsichord. How about that?