I don't understand the question! [Is snapped back, louder than she means to and so the following comes in the form of an even hissier hiss:]
Are you asking me how it makes me feel? How I knew it? It just happens. You can't not stomach it, you just— It's just in you. You can't help it. I don't know!
Then why is it so bloody awful! [He snaps back in return, the words hissed out through the edges of his fangs. Sharp, and hardly aimed at her in spite of the way he snarls— though that doesn’t do anything to make it better.]
How can anyone—
How does anyone live with it gnawing away at them day in and day out—
[Whatever barking tangent that’s taken hold of him stops there, pinned harshly by the tip of his own tongue.]
No. Forget it. As ever, you’ve been uniquely unhelpful. Thank you for your endless wealth of analytical insight. Goodnight.
[A slightly more forgiving, empathetic creature might at this point recognize the direction of his frustrations. She might take this moment to steer this conversation in some direction other than the one he's insisting on.
But Wysteria Poppell de Foncé isn't forgiving or empathetic, and also she is hiding in a linen closet having allowed him to insult her a half dozen times. So clearly he deserves it when she says:]
Maybe someone else will have a better answer for you, sir. I would recommend you consult them with a measure more politeness. Goodnight.
[Someone needs to invent a crystal iteration that makes a satisfying clicking noise when it's been hung up.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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Because I feel like it—
Now answer the damned question properly, or I’ll seduce Val de Foncé myself and ask him what he thinks instead.
Can’t be all that hard if you managed it.
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Are you asking me how it makes me feel? How I knew it? It just happens. You can't not stomach it, you just— It's just in you. You can't help it. I don't know!
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How can anyone—
How does anyone live with it gnawing away at them day in and day out—
[Whatever barking tangent that’s taken hold of him stops there, pinned harshly by the tip of his own tongue.]
No. Forget it. As ever, you’ve been uniquely unhelpful. Thank you for your endless wealth of analytical insight. Goodnight.
no subject
But Wysteria Poppell de Foncé isn't forgiving or empathetic, and also she is hiding in a linen closet having allowed him to insult her a half dozen times. So clearly he deserves it when she says:]
Maybe someone else will have a better answer for you, sir. I would recommend you consult them with a measure more politeness. Goodnight.
[Someone needs to invent a crystal iteration that makes a satisfying clicking noise when it's been hung up.]
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[Right, that's that, then.
Someone really needs to invent a crystal iteration that makes a satisfying clicking noise when it's been hung up.]