[Will could reexamine the logic behind his desire to keep her safe, in that it usually puts his own life on the line. Evelyn isn't helpless, and she isn't his express responsibility - conversely, the thought of losing him is equally horrifying. He's being hypocritical and what's more is that he knows it, would be an idiot not to recognise it in himself.
One of the last small pieces of grit is flicked out of the cut and onto the sand, little specks of red dotting the ground around them and as much a reminder of the incident as her cut trousers, which are rolled up to accommodate his first aid. Evelyn watches the tense line of his shoulders and how they shift when he speaks, finally breaking his silence as dawn does the same with a faint pink edge on the horizon.]
You don't think that sounds a bit like the pot calling the kettle black?
[She tips her head to one side to appraise Will's handiwork: a tidy cut, not too deep and now as clean as it may ever be. If it sat there festering she might be more concerned about sepsis, but he has a generally steady hand. Reaching out, Evelyn scuffs a knuckle against the edge of his forearm. His nails are stained red with her blood, tacky as it dries and sticking to the implement that dangles from his fingers.]
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uncalendula) wrote2016-07-08 02:12 pm
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One of the last small pieces of grit is flicked out of the cut and onto the sand, little specks of red dotting the ground around them and as much a reminder of the incident as her cut trousers, which are rolled up to accommodate his first aid. Evelyn watches the tense line of his shoulders and how they shift when he speaks, finally breaking his silence as dawn does the same with a faint pink edge on the horizon.]
You don't think that sounds a bit like the pot calling the kettle black?
[She tips her head to one side to appraise Will's handiwork: a tidy cut, not too deep and now as clean as it may ever be. If it sat there festering she might be more concerned about sepsis, but he has a generally steady hand. Reaching out, Evelyn scuffs a knuckle against the edge of his forearm. His nails are stained red with her blood, tacky as it dries and sticking to the implement that dangles from his fingers.]
You know the risks.