[his fingers curl into claws around his cigarette, arm tense in the touch she knows he hates; that she says something is a relief, because he can bring up his stalling to a close]
That don't matter, would ya just shut up about it!
[it's snarled at her, raw and spiteful, but don't think for a moment it's due to a case of lost tempers; he's furious that she should presume any importance, any weight, any impact in his goddamn life, over his brother -- even if she doesn't know she's doing it]
[he's had about enough, nearing the end of that short emotional fuse (it's about two inches of old rope soaked in kerosene) and he tries to stand, and yank his arm away]
[it hurts. carol has known so many kinds of pain, but it's hard to find one to compare this to -- burning up from the inside out, maybe, her body doing all of it to itself and her being powerless to stop it. because badou never asked for her to care so much, never invited any of it in. what she's feeling right now is coming from her, not from him, but there's nothing she can do about it.
her face betrays her just as badly as his does, hurt and angry and awful, and for a moment she looks (feels) like she might haul off and slap him across the face, but she doesn't.]
Not you. I knew that already.
[carol doesn't want to let him go, she wants to keep him here and make him understand. it's pointless, though, isn't it? he won't. he'll just keep fighting her. so she gets up too, releasing her grip on him, turning away, a hand coming up to her face.
[he doesn't expect to be released so easily (Badou expects nothing to come easily, absolutely nothing), so red sneakers stutter an extra step down on the church steps with the force of his drag away. at least, he doesn't fall, at least he doesn't eat pavement (at least features a lot Badou's life)]
[the broken look on her face doesn't hurt him, like it should, but it does stop him long enough for more words to fight out of teeth that want to trap them inside]
Ya wanna fight the goddamn Underground? Ya wanna fight the fucking Below? Surprise of the fuckin' year, you ain't the only one. But you? Ain't lost a single goddamn thing to it. You ain't lost your voice or your eye or your fucking family. Fuck you for thinkin' you got a single goddamn say in whether I try ta get anything back, fucking rip that place to shreds, or get ripped ta shreds my fucking self.
[another drag on the cigarette, short and deep, making embers flare, and he drops the stub to the pavement, grinding it under his sneaker like he usually grinds her concern]
If ya wanna help, if you're so goddamn set on it, crack open the Landlord's head for me, an' get me the fuck outta here, an' away from shithead hypocrites like you.
[she's furious and miserable and shattered, she's shaking with it, but she keeps her back turned on him now, lets his words fall on her and weigh her shoulders down even more until it feels like they might snap under the pressure. but she can take it. she can.
(can she? really?)
carol has never been good at knowing when to run away, or knowing how, but right now she wants to. she doesn't know what else to do.]
Fine.
[there's no heat to it anymore. every tense muscle slumps, and she starts to walk away.]
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Re: action
That don't matter, would ya just shut up about it!
Re: action
[his brother is dead his brother is dead his brother is dead--]
I won't lose another person I love just because you're too stupid to see how important you are.
Re: action
[it's snarled at her, raw and spiteful, but don't think for a moment it's due to a case of lost tempers; he's furious that she should presume any importance, any weight, any impact in his goddamn life, over his brother -- even if she doesn't know she's doing it]
[he's had about enough, nearing the end of that short emotional fuse (it's about two inches of old rope soaked in kerosene) and he tries to stand, and yank his arm away]
Re: action
her face betrays her just as badly as his does, hurt and angry and awful, and for a moment she looks (feels) like she might haul off and slap him across the face, but she doesn't.]
Not you. I knew that already.
[carol doesn't want to let him go, she wants to keep him here and make him understand. it's pointless, though, isn't it? he won't. he'll just keep fighting her. so she gets up too, releasing her grip on him, turning away, a hand coming up to her face.
stupid. this was stupid.]
Re: action
[the broken look on her face doesn't hurt him, like it should, but it does stop him long enough for more words to fight out of teeth that want to trap them inside]
Ya wanna fight the goddamn Underground? Ya wanna fight the fucking Below? Surprise of the fuckin' year, you ain't the only one. But you? Ain't lost a single goddamn thing to it. You ain't lost your voice or your eye or your fucking family. Fuck you for thinkin' you got a single goddamn say in whether I try ta get anything back, fucking rip that place to shreds, or get ripped ta shreds my fucking self.
[another drag on the cigarette, short and deep, making embers flare, and he drops the stub to the pavement, grinding it under his sneaker like he usually grinds her concern]
If ya wanna help, if you're so goddamn set on it, crack open the Landlord's head for me, an' get me the fuck outta here, an' away from shithead hypocrites like you.
Re: action
(can she? really?)
carol has never been good at knowing when to run away, or knowing how, but right now she wants to. she doesn't know what else to do.]
Fine.
[there's no heat to it anymore. every tense muscle slumps, and she starts to walk away.]
Re: action