[... She has a point. A really fucking good point.
Quentin keeps his head on the table. He's not moving. Maybe ever. Just bury him here.
He reaches out with his mind again for the first time in... a tense few moments there. But he's tired, sulky, and he doesn't feel like using his physical vocal cords anymore.]
no subject
Quentin keeps his head on the table. He's not moving. Maybe ever. Just bury him here.
He reaches out with his mind again for the first time in... a tense few moments there. But he's tired, sulky, and he doesn't feel like using his physical vocal cords anymore.]
/Do you have another glass?/