[The growl pings some innate, animal fear in him. Like the shock of seeing the family dog raise hackles for the first time. Well then.]
Sorry, sweetie, I don't think you're my type.
[Either this mirage-bitch in a friend's clothing will be gone in forty-odd hours, or he'll slip into his own troubled delusions and forget about her. She's not the real deal, and she's not real period.
Richie closes his eyes and looks to the ceiling, blinking hard.]
They dug deep on this one, huh? Sending you back with a tagalong. As if you aren't still strung up in whatever hold it all has on you. Bruises or bitter words. Your favourite regrets...Fun shit, all around.
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Sorry, sweetie, I don't think you're my type.
[Either this mirage-bitch in a friend's clothing will be gone in forty-odd hours, or he'll slip into his own troubled delusions and forget about her. She's not the real deal, and she's not real period.
Richie closes his eyes and looks to the ceiling, blinking hard.]
They dug deep on this one, huh? Sending you back with a tagalong. As if you aren't still strung up in whatever hold it all has on you. Bruises or bitter words. Your favourite regrets...Fun shit, all around.