Gen had been silently staring into the darkness of the gardens -- the little spider once more tapping at his shoe, a breeze rustling through the topiary, the Citadel's lights flickering softly through a window -- while feeling the rhythmic slide of the brush through his hair. Gray's ministrations are gentle enough that the tension in his shoulders had slowly abated, leaving him surprisingly docile and quiet in Gray's hands. And while his silence might at first suggest that he's ignoring that question, after a long silence, he slowly exhales a streamer of smoke and watches it dissolve into the night atmosphere. ]
Didn't think I'd have to worry about mundane shit like that. [ It must sound like such a stupid answer. A simple, stupid answer that offers so little. But maybe Gray can glean something from it -- not from his words, but from the exhausted slump of his shoulders, and the listless tone of his voice. The distant quality of his gaze. ] We're here, caught up in a war. Worrying about a haircut just seemed ... pointless.
[ (War or not, he hadn't really expected or wanted to live long enough to have to worry about a haircut ever again.)
Gen pulls his cigarette away from his lips to tap the ash off to the side, sitting still when he feels Gray's fingers card gently through a tangled clump of his hair. The ember continues to smolder, but Gen pays it no mind, clearly caught deep in the quagmire of his thoughts. And when he speaks again, his voice is lower, barely enough to carry over a quiet breeze rustling past them. ]
How much longer d'you think you can keep going like this? Worrying about other people's hair.
[ Remaining intact enough to worry about things like other people's hair. ]
no subject
Gen had been silently staring into the darkness of the gardens -- the little spider once more tapping at his shoe, a breeze rustling through the topiary, the Citadel's lights flickering softly through a window -- while feeling the rhythmic slide of the brush through his hair. Gray's ministrations are gentle enough that the tension in his shoulders had slowly abated, leaving him surprisingly docile and quiet in Gray's hands. And while his silence might at first suggest that he's ignoring that question, after a long silence, he slowly exhales a streamer of smoke and watches it dissolve into the night atmosphere. ]
Didn't think I'd have to worry about mundane shit like that. [ It must sound like such a stupid answer. A simple, stupid answer that offers so little. But maybe Gray can glean something from it -- not from his words, but from the exhausted slump of his shoulders, and the listless tone of his voice. The distant quality of his gaze. ] We're here, caught up in a war. Worrying about a haircut just seemed ... pointless.
[ (War or not, he hadn't really expected or wanted to live long enough to have to worry about a haircut ever again.)
Gen pulls his cigarette away from his lips to tap the ash off to the side, sitting still when he feels Gray's fingers card gently through a tangled clump of his hair. The ember continues to smolder, but Gen pays it no mind, clearly caught deep in the quagmire of his thoughts. And when he speaks again, his voice is lower, barely enough to carry over a quiet breeze rustling past them. ]
How much longer d'you think you can keep going like this? Worrying about other people's hair.
[ Remaining intact enough to worry about things like other people's hair. ]