[Richie takes it in with a drawn face. His mouth quirks at the mention of Friday — this same wide-eyed expression had been blotched red and tacky with old tears. Hurtful stuff. This is too, the earnestness with which he says it. Simple truth.
All he can do at the end is press his lips together in a thin smile. Put the cigarette between them before he reaches for his shoulder, gives it a good squeeze.]
You're good kid, Yves. You've got a real big heart. You're just apt to give us all gray hairs.
[He takes a drag and lets him go, blowing smoke in the other direction and pinching at his nose with a wince.]
We'll see what all happens next week. I don't think anyone's under the illusion that it's still just a tragic coincidence.
[ to be told that he's going to be a stressful person to look after. he does know it about himself, but his usual babysitter isn't here. the back-up one is now also dead.
uh oh!
but he nods slowly at the mention of... next week ]
... when you're feeling a little better, do you want to try to figure out self-defense tactics, Monsieur Richie? Just in case.
It's okay. Don't apologize. [Now he feels like an asshole. Man.] There's far worse things to be than a bleeding heart. Believe me.
[Or maybe he doesn't have to. He's seen enough cruelty to last a lifetime. He's got an attitude about personal tragedy that would make him a daytime talk show darling, oh he can just see the sob circuit he'd run on cable. Kid's been through enough and still came out sunny as the top of July. How does that figure?
At this last though, he pulls a face.]
...Let's table it for the moment. I'm still a long ways away from throwing a bad punch, much less a competent one.
[Neither yes nor a no. He really can't bear the idea of emasculating himself with one arm and shit form in a self-defense class right now. Especially ones administered by people half his age. Just let him die instead.]
Let's just head to bed, all right? It's been a doozy and a half. I'm beat, and I'll bet you are too.
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no subject
All he can do at the end is press his lips together in a thin smile. Put the cigarette between them before he reaches for his shoulder, gives it a good squeeze.]
You're good kid, Yves. You've got a real big heart. You're just apt to give us all gray hairs.
[He takes a drag and lets him go, blowing smoke in the other direction and pinching at his nose with a wince.]
We'll see what all happens next week. I don't think anyone's under the illusion that it's still just a tragic coincidence.
no subject
[ to be told that he's going to be a stressful person to look after. he does know it about himself, but his usual babysitter isn't here. the back-up one is now also dead.
uh oh!
but he nods slowly at the mention of... next week ]
... when you're feeling a little better, do you want to try to figure out self-defense tactics, Monsieur Richie? Just in case.
no subject
[Or maybe he doesn't have to. He's seen enough cruelty to last a lifetime. He's got an attitude about personal tragedy that would make him a daytime talk show darling, oh he can just see the sob circuit he'd run on cable. Kid's been through enough and still came out sunny as the top of July. How does that figure?
At this last though, he pulls a face.]
...Let's table it for the moment. I'm still a long ways away from throwing a bad punch, much less a competent one.
[Neither yes nor a no. He really can't bear the idea of emasculating himself with one arm and shit form in a self-defense class right now. Especially ones administered by people half his age. Just let him die instead.]
Let's just head to bed, all right? It's been a doozy and a half. I'm beat, and I'll bet you are too.