There's a flicker in his face, though it finds its way to the corners of his mouth. That grin still has too many teeth, but it reaches into other parts of his face now even of it doesn't penetrate farther. Something true for some fragmented reason. "Good," he says.
Storytellers, she thinks, satisfied. He knows. And maybe he thinks she won't be as good as him, but that's fine. He can be wrong with everyone else who's ever said she can't do, won't succeed. Look how far she's got. Look how much she's already lived.
If he can do it, she can do it.
"En échange," she says, produces from somewhere tucked on her person a flattened piece of paper, handwritten. She doesn't try to give it to him - and risk having him rebuff it when they're very nearly ending on a positive note? not likely - but lays it flat on the nearest shelf for him to take or leave when he takes his own leave.
It isn't Peletier, but it is a French poem. He will have to have it translated to find out how many human teeth it features; she doesn't linger any longer.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
What would be the point otherwise.
no subject
If he can do it, she can do it.
"En échange," she says, produces from somewhere tucked on her person a flattened piece of paper, handwritten. She doesn't try to give it to him - and risk having him rebuff it when they're very nearly ending on a positive note? not likely - but lays it flat on the nearest shelf for him to take or leave when he takes his own leave.
It isn't Peletier, but it is a French poem. He will have to have it translated to find out how many human teeth it features; she doesn't linger any longer.