[ ... well. There's a certain warmth and familiarity in Gale's tone for a moment that not even Godfrey can ignore, the low implication of something more just beneath his words ringing too clearly for Godfrey to plug his ears to.
He can't be surprised, though. Not after seeing personally how quickly he started into his glass. It's likely the wine talking; Godfrey can feel it himself, the way the alcohol begins to blur the lines between the two of them, the way it flourishes in his chest. He was at risk of the very same thing - precisely why he must remain cognizant of it. It was hardly fair to ascribe something personal to Gale's burgeoning inebriation, and less fair to hold it against him.
Godfrey sits and smiles amiably, but keeps his back straight and his hips beneath him. He does not return to his earlier posture, lounging back on the piled cushions. It felt improper now, in ways that Godfrey could not elaborate upon. He watches the shimmering, ruby heart of his glass, and he delves. ]
I have shown you sadness tonight, but that is not all that my life has been. [ It likely went without saying, but it was a reminder that Godfrey himself could do with. There were many sadnesses, but just as much laughter, and a litter of stories he could use to prove it. ] I remember once-- Iltha was quite angry at me.
[ She seemed his safest bet. Vladimir felt inexorably couched in that same sadness he was trying to escape, though he had his share that always brought a smile to his face - and, strangely, it feels impolite to conjure him back into the conversation. He takes a deep sip. ]
She had... I believe, said some disparaging things to her schoolteacher. She became angry that I had not taken her side in the matter and confined her to her room. [ Even had she been, as Iltha's assessment went, lacking in intelligence and not worth listening to, it would not do to have her saying so. ] I had assumed the matter would cool in the evening, but I suppose that I underestimated her.
[ There's a distance in his eyes now, a warm fondness in the curve of his lips. ]
I said good-night to her, as I often did. She was scrunched into her bed, you know, looking sullen still. And she began-- [ Something ripples in him, a sensible chuckle he tries to suppress, ] She began to point out other things in the room and address them. Good-night book, good-night chair, good-night hairbrush. I love you, comb. I'd spent my time watching over the children with the church, but I'd no clue they were capable of that sort of... I suppose, passive-aggression.
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He can't be surprised, though. Not after seeing personally how quickly he started into his glass. It's likely the wine talking; Godfrey can feel it himself, the way the alcohol begins to blur the lines between the two of them, the way it flourishes in his chest. He was at risk of the very same thing - precisely why he must remain cognizant of it. It was hardly fair to ascribe something personal to Gale's burgeoning inebriation, and less fair to hold it against him.
Godfrey sits and smiles amiably, but keeps his back straight and his hips beneath him. He does not return to his earlier posture, lounging back on the piled cushions. It felt improper now, in ways that Godfrey could not elaborate upon. He watches the shimmering, ruby heart of his glass, and he delves. ]
I have shown you sadness tonight, but that is not all that my life has been. [ It likely went without saying, but it was a reminder that Godfrey himself could do with. There were many sadnesses, but just as much laughter, and a litter of stories he could use to prove it. ] I remember once-- Iltha was quite angry at me.
[ She seemed his safest bet. Vladimir felt inexorably couched in that same sadness he was trying to escape, though he had his share that always brought a smile to his face - and, strangely, it feels impolite to conjure him back into the conversation. He takes a deep sip. ]
She had... I believe, said some disparaging things to her schoolteacher. She became angry that I had not taken her side in the matter and confined her to her room. [ Even had she been, as Iltha's assessment went, lacking in intelligence and not worth listening to, it would not do to have her saying so. ] I had assumed the matter would cool in the evening, but I suppose that I underestimated her.
[ There's a distance in his eyes now, a warm fondness in the curve of his lips. ]
I said good-night to her, as I often did. She was scrunched into her bed, you know, looking sullen still. And she began-- [ Something ripples in him, a sensible chuckle he tries to suppress, ] She began to point out other things in the room and address them. Good-night book, good-night chair, good-night hairbrush. I love you, comb. I'd spent my time watching over the children with the church, but I'd no clue they were capable of that sort of... I suppose, passive-aggression.