#waysofhittingback

He glanced about, and then seated himself on the edge of a wooden step, puffing out a slight breath---pushing a handful of dark curls away from his eyes. 

Not speaking right off---seeming content to mull the prospect over for another moment. 

Then his eyebrows lifted. 

“ ---I punched Valentine Warleggan. ” His tone shared the bluntness of his words, and he sniffed---lowering his gaze. 

“ hold on, then. ” the shift was very sudden, his voice taking on an almost apprehensive edge, though——he did try to throw it off.

“ ---can be, I suppose. ” He spoke in a low, indifferent sort of murmur---not reluctant, per say, but---grim, somewhat noncommittal. 

His eyebrows were a bit risen, and he sniffed---pushing a handful of curls away from his eyes---staring rather ponderously at the floor. 

“ Then again, I expect that’s true of the best of us---which I’d imagine none of us could claim to be, at present. ”

There was a distant quality to his voice---as though he was speculating on a larger scale---not solely discussing the immediate situation.

Briefly, he paused, and then he glanced over, blinking---appearing to be paying more attention now.