[ Some of Bastien’s mustered dignity disintegrates at Whiskey’s COMPLETE BETRAYAL (which she will be forgiven for the moment she looks at him with her droopy eyes). He’s still frowning at her when he answers. ]
Yes, I do.
[ The frown turns on Byerly for just a moment before he turns and goes through the door.
And then he stops, looking around, clutching the bag, paralyzed by the presumptuousness of putting it down anywhere in particular. The impossibility of making himself at home without being given permission. The flashback to standing here before, one shoe off, feeling like a member of the ensemble awkwardly stuck on the stage while the title characters of some romance carried on.
It’s easier to turn around again—still in the room, but talking out through the door—and focus on something else, like, ]
no subject
Yes, I do.
[ The frown turns on Byerly for just a moment before he turns and goes through the door.
And then he stops, looking around, clutching the bag, paralyzed by the presumptuousness of putting it down anywhere in particular. The impossibility of making himself at home without being given permission. The flashback to standing here before, one shoe off, feeling like a member of the ensemble awkwardly stuck on the stage while the title characters of some romance carried on.
It’s easier to turn around again—still in the room, but talking out through the door—and focus on something else, like, ]
Say you’re angry.