“. . .”
yet, her tongue was dripping with poison.
basterbine was a viper, insolence manifested
in the flesh some might say, for she never
knew the limits which should never be broken.
nonchalantly waving a gloved hand, a glance
would be directed at the male; her voice rising
in response to his indifference.
’—-I did not hear you, Cang!’
’repeat yourself please?’
“should i define disruptive?”
perhaps it would be necessary, considering the juvenile
antics of one he could not truly say he expected any
different out of. the forecast of a day included a tantrum
of some sorts without fail, and he prided himself upon
staying out of them. ah, all luck falls short of mere chance.
he’s little need for further conversation, as the tilt of his
figure away from the space between them clearly illustrates.
another moment, and he will walk from this.