[They are not discussing the dog. If they did, they might eventually find themselves debating whether it is acceptable to feed an animal entirely on table scraps.
—Is not a specific notion that occurs to Flint consciously in the moment, or truly would at any interval (what the fuck does he know about keeping dogs? Stark really does have good timing; a few more weeks of this lavish lifestyle, and Hardie might be ruined irreparably). But the first part. That he understands.
A thump, both over the crystal and maybe faintly echoed through the division office's heavy door as well. But possibly not. The closing of the wardrobe, and the door coming into contact with the sea chest before it does the frame in which it belongs, isn't so loud as all that, really.]
( gwenaëlle's crystal shuts off, his question unanswered—
for a moment. only as many as it takes her to get from where she'd sat cross-legged on the stone floor just out of easy sight of anyone emerging from one of the adjacent doors— from there to quietly open his office, apparently deciding that she is sufficiently announced already.
she has the grace to look a little bit abashed about it. )
[Flint is on his feet there in the room beyond the door. He has his sword belt in one hand, sword included, and a slim book in the other. From the state of the ordinarily strictly businesslike space—there are two shirts folded over the back of the low chair near the office's earth, and a pair of freshly blacked boots—, there is a distinct air of items being collected for packing in a bag. He is going somewhere, and her timing is convenient in the sense that in another few hours he might be entirely absent from the Gallows much less these particular rooms.
Hardly halfway across the threshold from the adjacent apartments, he stops. Some of the drawn low quality in his expression alters at the sight of her, but it doesn't ease so much as it does simply change shape.
He looks at her for a long beat. Then:]
Welcome back.
[Feels like something of an understatement, given the circumstances.]
When I die, ( again, for real, permanently, however you'd like to finish that sentence, ) no one's going to fucking believe it.
( this is a joke. it's also plausible, because a third funeral is quite frankly getting excessive, which makes it funnier, actually, and easier to say than any of the many other things that his understatement does and does not cover.
hardie pushes past her into the office proper, which is just as it should be, she thinks. they are safe.
the open door at her back makes her neck itch; when she pulls it to, coming in, it's a sidestep that keeps a stone wall behind her instead. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
eventually,
probably having thought better of several other things, )
I'm glad he was with you, is all.
no subject
—Is not a specific notion that occurs to Flint consciously in the moment, or truly would at any interval (what the fuck does he know about keeping dogs? Stark really does have good timing; a few more weeks of this lavish lifestyle, and Hardie might be ruined irreparably). But the first part. That he understands.
A thump, both over the crystal and maybe faintly echoed through the division office's heavy door as well. But possibly not. The closing of the wardrobe, and the door coming into contact with the sea chest before it does the frame in which it belongs, isn't so loud as all that, really.]
Are you in the Gallows?
no subject
for a moment. only as many as it takes her to get from where she'd sat cross-legged on the stone floor just out of easy sight of anyone emerging from one of the adjacent doors— from there to quietly open his office, apparently deciding that she is sufficiently announced already.
she has the grace to look a little bit abashed about it. )
Ouais.
no subject
Hardly halfway across the threshold from the adjacent apartments, he stops. Some of the drawn low quality in his expression alters at the sight of her, but it doesn't ease so much as it does simply change shape.
He looks at her for a long beat. Then:]
Welcome back.
[Feels like something of an understatement, given the circumstances.]
no subject
( this is a joke. it's also plausible, because a third funeral is quite frankly getting excessive, which makes it funnier, actually, and easier to say than any of the many other things that his understatement does and does not cover.
hardie pushes past her into the office proper, which is just as it should be, she thinks. they are safe.
the open door at her back makes her neck itch; when she pulls it to, coming in, it's a sidestep that keeps a stone wall behind her instead. )