#debonairdead

       “ sorry about... the occupation. i wasn’t sure when they would let you come home. “ she feels horribly out of place, not necessarily on his ( not their ) porch, but in ireland. it puts her too close to a lot of things, and a lot of people. she fingers the hem of her skirt, tries not to fidget like she used to as she meets his eyeless gaze. she fills in the gaps automatically, pictures a face long lost for no other reason than that she misses it often. “ i heard the news. about ghastly, and about what you did. “ she wipes some of the rain that still clings to her off, tries to avoid looking directly at him for too long ; but it’s him, so of course her efforts are futile. “ and i thought maybe you’d want me here. “

“ --------- i don’t  like  punching people. ”       maybe not an outright  LIE , but it’s not like she’s actually fooling anyone. which becomes very obvious when she follows skulduggery to the bentley despite her protest. ( it was nice to try and remain on her high horse for as long as could get away with it, at least. show good intentions, or somethig like that. )

     then, a little more quietly:  “ i’m just not completely opposed to the idea. ”