Charm and Lies

I need another drink.

That’s Yasmin’s thought as she sets her wine glass down. She’s already more than halfway through her second drink, but after a tense conversation with one of Frederick Knight’s associates, she has quite the edge to try and take off. A hand takes back through her hair and she’s just begun to crane her neck to try and spot the bartender when Davin Ormond approaches her and states something that makes her stomach tie into knots. Fuck.

Obviously, she’s aware of that fact, too. But Yasmin has found that denial has served her best as feelings for the man she’s supposed to kill have slowly crept up on her. After a brief flash of panic, the woman quickly forces herself into the calm, playful demeanor she’s tended to have with Davin. “Oh, really? Well I know that you’re drunk.” She states with a challenging raise of her eyebrow.

As he continues to talk, she continues to challenge him, though she can feel something catch in her chest when he calls her beautiful. “What if I just like cheap booze?” Yasmin questions, crossing her legs and wrapping both hands around her glass. She feels her jaw clench for a split second when he mentions a date, but as quickly as it came, it’s gone. “Perhaps I can consider it. Depending upon where you’d take me.” What? No. You should be turning him down. But she continues. “You know, I do tend to frequent places that aren’t bars.” She comments in jest, paying no attention to his remark about his appearance and just taking another swig of her drink.

“Drunk? I? While at work. Now, what do you think of me - some scoundrel?” He feigns an expression of offence, before a wild grin flashes instead, a deep chuckle echoing from the bearded man. “If you believe this to be me drunk, love, you should see me when I’m trying.” The Irish twang is evident in his voice, even with his speech a little slurred.

“Perhaps. But there are many other places to get cheap booze in this little, sleepy town. There must be something drawing you here. And I would wager that it’s not for Frank’s grizzly charm.” He says with a nod toward the elderly regular who was asleep with his head atop the bar, his usual position toward the end of a night. When she agrees, his eyebrows raise in faint surprise, though quickly a smug smirk replaces the momentary shock. “Of course. A lady such as you can expect nothing but the finest dining that Ireland has to offer. Nothing less for you, love.”

“So, I know you like me, Thorpe.”

Davin shows his signature smirk, even if it is a little sloppy from the whiskey he kept hidden beneath the bar for himself. It was near closing time, and most of his patrons had long since headed out into the cold for their treks home. The blonde was still there, as he was certain she would be. Who could resist such a handsome man? Davin thought, just as he stumbled over a loose patch on the carpet on his way near her, the grin not faltering despite his off footing. “Don’t lie to yourself. I can see it in your eyes. It’s the only reason a woman as beautiful as you would be spending so much time in a pub like this, anyway.”

He says with a loving pat of one of the buildings wooden beams, just before sliding into a seat opposite where she had taken her perch. “And, though I do like to think of your every visit as dates. I thought, maybe, it was about time I asked you on a proper one.” He nods his head, placing his elbows on the table between them as he leans a little closer towards her. “Date, that is. Don’t you think it’s time we saw each other somewhere else? I assure you, I’m even more stunning in the day light.” He jokes, with a wink at the end of his words.

"It's a left here, I think."

Yasmin speaks to her friend who was driving the car. She’d considered getting a rental, but her friend who was also returning home was kind enough to give her a ride. Home. Yasmin’s knee bounces nervously. Crazy, after all this, that she’s nervous to go home. Of course she’s excited, but the unknown is scaring her. What if the twins don’t recognize her? What if they’re gone on holiday for the week? Though she knows these things are all unlikely or downright untrue, the woman sits biting her lip as they turn a left on the street that the Ormond home sits on. Yasmin knows for a fact that no one is home – her mother is in town visiting, and had dragged Davin and the kids out to the store so Yasmin had time to get home. As they pull into the driveway under the mist of the Irish rain, Yasmin sighs heavily. “Alright. Well, here’s my stop.” She smiles, giving a hug to the fellow soldier in the car, then grabbing her bags and hopping out. She waves as the car pulls away, then jogs to the house, dragging her bags behind her. She hurries them upstairs, knowing she has very little time. She’s only just gotten back downstairs when she hears the doorknob jiggling and turns, face lighting up just in time for the door to open. “Why, hello there.”

#yasmin #otp: this is real #wow this took me 20 bazillion years

“Alright, kids. I’ll meet you in the garden.” It had just taken that simple sentence to send the pack of Ormond children running from the car, conveniently forgetting the bags of groceries still waiting to be collected from the boot. Davin, however, could only smirk - watching the four heads of shaggy hair jog towards the fields behind the house, little Aoife chasing behind with her toddler-style stumble. No matter, a few bags was no match for Super Dad! Or, perhaps a better saying would be no match for his undying stubbornness, which refused to let him make more than one trip between the car and the kitchen. So, with a week’s worth of supplies hooked over his elbows and tucked beneath his arms, he made the hobbling walk toward the front door, grumbling as he fished around for the key to get inside. The door, however, did not need to be unlocked as it usually did; immediately, the senses in Davin’s body went into high alert, his thoughts suddenly with his children, how foolish he was to allow them to run off alone. How stupid he was to think they were safe. Wait- that voice.

As soon as he sees her, almost all the shopping falls from his arms, and it is with a splatter of cracked eggs and the spillage of milk cartons that he stands before her, eyes blinking. For a moment, he believes he is dreaming. How could she be there, smiling at her with that beautiful smile? Those eyes he dreamed about watching him? Yet, his pause is momentary, a raindrop in an emotion, for before he knows it he is running to her, arms wide in an embrace. He holds onto her, and he feels tears brimming, just holding onto her and refusing to relinquish his grip. As if letting go meant releasing this momentary fantasy. But she is real, he knows it, in the scent that has become so familiar as he kisses the crown of her head, in the softness of her hair as his fingers trail through the locks. Only after a few minutes does he lean back, actually look at her, with a grin from ear to ear and joy abundant upon his face.

“Hello, love. What took you so long?”

lumadreamland

#davin #otp: this is real #Yasmin #photos

“Goodnight, love.”

“Oh, don’t pain me. Give me a month at least.” Yasmin suddenly laughs as she reaches up and brushes a speck of blue paint from the side of her husband’s nose, then wraps her arms around him. Her thumb rubs against his back, her eyes closed. As he echoes her setiment, she sighs softly. She’s aware that there isn’t much longer until he begins to question her. She’s been able to feel his eyes trailing her since she got home from work. She’s been off since she got home, and she knows it. But she can’t help it. Watching her boys fight and play as they usually do has brought a sudden ache to her chest. How will she live without seeing them doing this for months? (Of course, part of her wonders if she may never see it again after she leaves. She’s wise enough to ignore that portion of her mind. For now, at least.)

Her eyes are closed until she feels hands shift to her shoulders and her husband steps back. She meets his eyes and immediately sees his concern. Yasmin forces herself to swallow hard, already feeling emotions well up. She cannot cry. She cannot show fear. That will not help her family. So she just sighs, giving a sad smile before leaning up and giving her husband a gentle kiss.

Quickly, the woman turns away, retrieving the letter from her bedside table. She doesn’t turn back around, however. She just stands, looking down at the torn envelope in her hands, feeling how close her fingers are to shaking. She opens her mouth to speak but finds that she must clear her throat first, biting her lip and blinking for a moment before speaking in a relatively level tone of voice.

“Found this on my desk at work today.” She begins. Suddenly, Yasmin gives a somewhat bitter laugh. “I really should’ve listened to you. You told me that I shouldn’t have mentioned being willing to go over. But.” She knows that, at this point, Davin knows. They’d had many arguments over her willingness to serve. Considering her ranking, she hadn’t thought they would’ve been placing her in the front lines of battle. It seems that she was wrong. Though she knows that, by now, her husband is aware of what news this letter holds, Yasmin turns and looks him in the eye. She must swallow hard before holding out the letter and delivering the blow with absolute certainty. “They want me to go to Iraq.”

The woman sturdies her jaw and straightens her spine. She can’t change it. Tears won’t serve her well. Her eyes dart away, her words coming more quickly. “I’ve got two weeks until they want me to leave for basic training. After that, I don’t know where, exactly. But it’ll, ah, it’ll only be a few months, I think. A year at the most. It changes, sometimes, and I mean if they want me there for command things I guess it may be a longer stay but I don’t… I um…” She’s babbling, which is unlike her and she knows it. It’s only when she meets Davin’s eyes that Yasmin finally falls silent. Her lips press together, the bottom one quivering. Her next words come out in a whisper. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

#yasmin #para #otp: this is real

“Alright, a month. Perhaps you’ll manage that.” He chuckles as he embraces her, a soft smile upon his face as he plants a gentle kiss on the crown of her head. For a second, he wonders if he could stay like this forever - with Yasmin safely tucked in the crook of his arm, and the world about them quiet, peaceful. No worries nor grievances. It would be a perfect snapshot of what he had always hoped for, had it not been the worry that spread like a virus through his body. He could ignore the subtle air of something wrong, if he tried hard enough, yet after everything he had lived through, he was no longer the type of person to do so. Whatever it was, he must deal with it head on - they must deal with it head on. A team, as always.

So, as she turns away from his searching eyes, he swallows his nervousness. But, its when she does not turn to face him that true, consuming fear begins to kick in. Against his better instincts, he takes a few paces forward, nearing so he can look over her shoulder. He sees the letter in her hand, and his gut clenches. The logo on the envelope can only mean one thing, and he’s practically guessed the reason she’s been so off before she even speaks. Suddenly, it all seems to click into place. He steps backwards, sitting himself down on the bed, balancing his elbows onto his knees. Her words of confirmation only causes the terror within him to deepen, like a freezing hand gripping him at the throat. He’s helpless, he knows he is. How can he stop this?

“No.” Is all he says, at first. Not daring to look her in the eye. He barely hears what she says about training, her babbling falling on deaf ears. “No.” He repeats. There’s no tears, no emotion; a mere blank mask occupies his face. Perhaps he should be angry; just as they finally find happiness, a beautiful life, it’s all to be stripped away from them. Or, just plain sad. Yet, he can’t find it in himself to feel either. Just a dull ache, numbed by the shock.

Suddenly, his petrified episode is over, and he’s onto his feet. Without another word, he turns on his heel, heading toward the wardrobe to find some clothes to pull on over his pyjama shorts. He doesn’t look at Yasmin as he tries to find a shoe, his actions occurring with an air of harshness that’s not usually present. “Your boss. Where does he live? I’m going to have a word with him.” From the way he says it, it’s clear to the both of them just what he means. Davin may not have used his S Gene for a while, but that sure as hell didn’t mean he wouldn’t go to such desperate measures to protect his family. He’d do anything to keep them safe.

“Goodnight, love.”

Yasmin kisses the soft, dark hair of her eldest son and gives him a soft smile before shutting off the light and slipping quietly out of the room. For a moment, she hovers outside of the doorway, listening to the voices of two of her children bid each other goodnight before falling quiet.

She sighs softly, closes her eyes for a moment, then turns and walks slowly down the hallway, to the bedroom that she and her husband share. She can hear the sink running in the adjacent bathroom, but she doesn’t head in that direction. Instead, she reaches into the bag that she usually takes to work and pulls out a letter, the envelope already torn open. She knows that she’s been noticeably anxious today. There’s only a matter of time before Davin begins to question her; she’s more than aware of that. So, Yasmin sits quietly on the edge of the bed and looks over the words she’s already read countless times, trying to come up with her own to explain to her husband that she’s headed away. Nervously, she toys with the wedding band around her finger, setting down the pieces of paper just in time for her husband to enter the room. Her eyes roam his face, and she gives a smile, though it may be more tight-lipped than usual. How can she leave him? “I think Arthur is nearly as tall as me now.” She remarks lightheartedly, unsure of where to start. How much will he grow while she’s gone? “I’ve probably only got a few more months until he beats me, stringbean that he is.” Yasmin chuckles. Though her eyes dart to the letter beside her, she does nothing but casually place it on her bedside table before standing and walking to Davin. Her arms wrap around him, her cheek pressing to his chest. It’s a familiar position for them, which only makes her heart ache more. How will she live without this? “I love you.” She reminds him, after a moment of quiet. He needs to know that.

#yasmin #otp: this is real #future #//i apologise for the babbling xD

Hearing the sleepy protests of his children through the bathroom wall, Davin couldn’t help the contented smile upon his own face as he quickly ran a towel through the wet tangle of his hair. Of course, though the little ones may fight their fate of overcoming slumber, their parents knew as well as they did that soon they would succumb to the warmth of their pillows and the soothing touch of their mother’s good night kisses. Usually, the bestowing of gentle departing pecks upon chubby cheeks was a job both Yasmin and Davin shared. Yet, after an eventful bedtime tale of pirates and mermaids and glinting gold treasure, there had been an accident. Where upon twin number two, Finn, had decided he would trail the make-believe plank from the ship (or, more precisely, his bed) and into the sea (better known as the arts and crafts box). A chorus of laughter later, it seemed it was the captain himself who appeared to be the worst off in the whole situation, and had admitted defeat as - with paint streaked arms - he resigned to the bathroom.

Soon all memory of the multi coloured mess was forgotten down the shower drain, and by the time Davin had cleaned himself and tugged a pair of boxers on to prepare for his own rest, Yasmin was there. he had to admit he’d been trying to ignore the unrest he had sensed within her all day. Not because he intended to be ignorant to his wife’s sorrows - but, instead, he knew if he allowed himself to tune into the tension in her shoulders, the frown that lasted a few seconds too long, he wouldn’t be able to hold back his questions. However, he knew his wife, and he knew whatever was worrying her would not be spoken of in front of her pack. Not unless it was necessary. So, he had held his tongue. Had made no reason for her to suspect his curiosity. (Besides, perhaps, the extra helping of dessert he’d snuck into her bowl at dinner.) (Or the offering of tea whenever she had a second to sit down.) (And, not forgetting, the wild flowers he’d helped the boys stuff into one of her beloved vases.)

“Well, that’s not hard now, is it, love? I think you should count it as weeks.” He teases, mischievous smile dancing at his lips. His eyes follow the letter at her fingertips, and at first the questions threaten to bloom and burst. Yet, he allows himself to be distracted by the feeling of warm arms around his chest. They slot together perfectly, as always, like symmetry. The movements synchronised. As her cheek rests against him, his hand snakes up to gently caress the back of her head, to allow brown locks to intertwine his fingers. The other arm loops around her, holding her as close as he can - the protective shield she’d never needed, but he would always provide.

“I love you, too.” The words appear without thought, because no contemplation is required. How often before, he had wondered about them, how many ways it could have been different? Yet, even then, in the hardships, he could never have imagined such beautiful simplicity as they have now. Where their babies sleep peacefully across the hall, and they have no need to worry of what the next day may bring. Where ‘I love you’ is whispered as words of comfort, an unnecessary reminder; not a desperate plea, fearing it may be the last.

Nevertheless, this ‘I love you’ is different. He can tell that without even looking her in the eye. It’s an offering of uncertainty, and he knows he’d much rather keep his questions bottled up in his head. To allow this moment they share in each other’s embrace to stretch from minutes to hours. But, he cannot. And, he knows, neither can she. So, reluctantly, his hands strech to her shoulders, holding her outwards so he can look at her directly as he asks the question he knows will spark too many. His grin is easy and gentle, as it always is, but he fears her response before he’s even spoken, and he knows his eyes will give that away already.

“What’s wrong, Yas? Please. If you want to talk, then tell me.”

nick-fitzwilliams

Don't give me that look

I’m sorry, kid. I gotta report it when someone breaks the rule. I know it sucks, but once you compromise, it always happens again. And I can’t let that happen. [Nick gives the kid a stern but apologetic look. He hated it here as a Project. He can’t help but feel bad for the kids— but that doesn’t mean he can cut slack for someone.] Try not to break the rule next time.

(Davin watches the scene with a look of disapproval upon his face, making his way towards Nick as the kid heads away. Rolling his eyes, the smirk soon makes it way onto his face as he slouches in a chair beside Nick, raising an eyebrow at him.) Was that really necessary? Cut the kid a little slack, mate. You may be made of metal some of the time, tin man, but I'm sure there must be a heart somewhere in that chest of yours. (He says sarcastically, a challenging grin upon his face.)

#nick

archer-shepherd

I dunno how you people do it

[Archer mumbles under his breath. He has emptied a whole bottle and now he is in that blissful stage of drunk; incoherent thoughts and blurry visions, but not still in the slur. With his state of mind, he can’t tell who he is talking to. But he doesn’t care anymore. What’s the point?] Like… life is just fucked up. I lived like, forty three years and I still can’t figure it out. How the fuck do I make a life? All I do is just fucking shits up over and over again. I might as well just give up and become a… a writer or something.

#archer #brotp: I hate-hate you #//ignore the gif text :3

Well, look who it is. (Davin smirks to himself as he watches his friend empty a bottle, trying not to laugh though the sound soon escapes him.) I see since I've been gone you've become even more depressing. What's wrong now, Shepherd? Have you missed me that much you've resorted to drink? I know you must have felt deprived of my company, but there's really no need to react so emotionally. Or have you just finally realised that you're old? (He grins, though he soon claps his friend on the back, pulling the guy into a hug even if he is pissed as hell. He'd never admit to missing him, but he had. Of course he had. He's quick to release him though, taking a seat opposite him.) But, seriously, I suppose I should do the decent thing and ask what's wrong? Not that I'm interested. (He says sarcastically, a look of amusement in his eye.)

So, who missed me the most?

(Davin says confidently as he strides into the St Mary's common room, a wide grin on his face despite the gruelling hours of questioning from one of Hearst's little minions. True, he'd been granted a month off - but he'd more than overstepped his allocated holiday, and the big guys weren't happy. Fortunately, though, with the aid of Davin's S Gene and his lying ease, he'd managed to bluff his way through though he wasn't naive to believe he was off the hook yet.) C'mon, don't be shy. I'm not going anywhere now, no need to panic.

#continuum:starter

Davin Ormond + Tropes

#davin #hc #tropes

captainheroism

#davin

Hello again, England.

Dear God, this bag is bigger than I am. {Yasmin grumbles as she drags a large suitcase behind her through the terminal. She’s got tired eyes, but when she looks outside and sees the ever familiar England rain, she cracks a small smile. At the name, she turns and raises an eyebrow, smile growing.} I suppose I’ll have to get used to it. Unfortunately for me. Though my mother always says to wait until I have a ring on my finger. {She teases, laughing and tugging once more on the suitcase she was wheeling behind her.} Hmm… Sounds like a nice suggestion to me. Could certainly do with some caffeine. {With the hand not dragging the bag, she takes Davin’s hand gently, twining their fingers together.}

That's not really hard, love. You're a midget. (He says with a smirk, pulling his own cases to a halt as he looks around at the bustle of people going to and from the airport.) Ormond beats Thorpe any day - you know it. A ring? Well, you have your ring. I'm sure that bottle cap I put a hole in will suffice. Cheap and cheerful, huh? (He jokes with a wide grin, looking down at her with the smile still lingering on his face.) But, now you mention it, perhaps we should consider an upgrade. How about we stop by the jewellers en route to the coffee shop? I know a great place. (He gives her hand a soft squeeze as her fingers meet his, a contented look on his face.)

Hello again, England.

(It had been a long journey back home, but as Davin stepped out from the airport with a couple of suitcases in tow, he couldn't help but smile. He'd never imagined that things would be so different by the time he returned. Right now worries about St Mary's and Orion Hearst were a million miles away - he could deal with them later. He'd have at least a day of peace before he went back to that hell hole. For now, he turned to Yasmin, smirking in her direction.) Come along, Ormond. I don't care if that's not your name yet, that's what I'm calling you. I say we enjoy our quiet before the storm of annoyance hits and go get a coffee. What do you think?

Really?

Will you stop holding that over my head?! {Yasmin snaps, her patience gone.} The situation with Dimitri was bad enough without you being a complete and utter arsehole about it, thanks very much! You’re the last person I’d complain to, if you’re going to turn around and treat me like this! So I suppose you can stop worrying about that! {Her tone is bitter, and he stands over her, she clenches her fists and her jaw, unafraid.} I can fix my own messes. I’ll pick up the pieces. But it’s awfully hard when you’re doing nothing besides harping me about them! Don’t treat me like a bloody child! {His next comment prompts a sour laugh from her.} What would you like me to thank you for first? Being rude? Because that’s your best and only asset lately. {She growls, then throws her hands up in the air.} Oh! You’re just going to linger, then?! Well, Davin, guess what?! You can’t stay by my side forever! It doesn’t work that way! {She shoots back, shaking her head, still mere centimeters away from him.}

#yasmin #otp: this is real #//I apologise for bad reply #and lateness

Oh, I'm sorry, love. What do you expect me to do? Sit around for a girly chat with a nice cup of tea and some scones? Talk about our feelings and sensitivity? Sign up for therapy? (Davin's words are dripping with sarcasm, an incredulous roll of his eyes accompanying his dark chuckle.) Sorry, sweetheart, but that's just not how I roll. (He shakes his head, clenching his jaw.) Really, will you? Must say you've been doing an excellent job so far. Well done, Yasmin, you really have exceeded my expectations. (He smirks bitterly at her, folding his arms over his chest. Even if he looked calm and cocky on the outside, the truth is that he's fighting not to burst out into a full fit of anger.) No, I was more thinking the patience to put up with your insolent whining. That's where the gratitude should go. (He snarls down at her, his mouth twisted into an annoyed scowl as she blurts out her words. He doesn't know what to say for a while, just glaring at her as if he'd never been more disgusted in his life. There's a crazy idea in his head - fuelled by both his rage and the alcohol. Despite the topic he's bringing up, his tone of voice is still a gruff spurt of anger. But he doesn't break eye contact, doesn't step back to widen the distance. He just speaks - and takes a leap he doesn't truly consider the implications of just yet.) Marry me, then. Marry me, you stupid woman. Marry me! Then we'll be bloody stuck with each other, won't we? I'll be able to deal with your idiocy first hand. (His hands are still curled into fists, an enraged look in his eyes - then it goes. His stare becomes softer, slowly looking down at her hands, and he repeats his words, though there's something close to desperation evident this time.) Marry me.

matsmess

#hc #future #//I saw the drawing and had to

Thormond - Future AU

When Arthur was born, Davin and the little boy would spend hours playing and laughing whilst Yasmin was out at work. There was never a dull moment in that household, especially when the dress ups came out and Davin's favourite pirate impression (very realistic too, I must add) came to life as the sofa switched from a place to relax to the Jolly Roger itself.

By the time Yasmin would return home, it wouldn't be unusual for her to find the pair fast asleep on top of each other - a story book on Davin's lap, and the little boy still with his captain's hat perched proudly upon his head as he snored. When she finally managed to rouse Davin, the young sailor would be carried to bed, with a kiss from mother and father before he was tucked into his sheets and the parents shared a contented smile.

Their tiny pirate made them both more happy than they could ever say.

Really?

{Yasmin’s jaw drops before it clenches, and she turns with her nostrils flared, eyebrows furrowed.} Funny; I don’t recall you being so bloody stupid in 2015. But perhaps I was wrong. However, I do recall what was done to me thanks to the Genesis. So I don’t know who the fuck you think I am, but I’m surely not working for them. And I don’t need you bloody babysitting me! I’m not your pet! I don’t need you here with me! I don’t know what you think, but I’ve got some information to help you sort it out: I. Never. Needed. You. Here. This was all you. So don’t bloody talk to me like I’m incompetent, or I don’t know how to protect myself. {Yasmin turns her back in response to his snark, digging through the cabinets if only to distract herself so she does not lash out again. Her final comment is said out of spite, and she must admit she feels almost proud when she finally gets a real rise out of him. But his last comments cause her previous frustrations to flare up even further. She crosses to where he is quickly, and though their differing heights make things a bit difficult, she still musters up a glare at him.} Maybe you didn’t hear me the first time. So I’ll say it slower, let your mind process. I’m right here. Listen close, read my lips: I didn’t ask you to be here. Don’t blame me, Ormond. You could’ve left whenever you pleased. You have no point in being here.I’ll do you a favour: I’ll help you pay for your ticket to get away from me. Because obviously you don’t want to be here. I don’t know why the hell you stay after you’ve left so bloody easily before, but at this point, I’m too exhausted to inquire. I’ll just help you get home. You’ll never have to babysit me again, you arsehole. Don’t worry your pretty little mind. I’ll cover it, and then you’ll never see me again. Are you happy? I hope so. {Yasmin is only about half a meter from him, her voice a low snarl, fingers clenched into fists. She refuses to deal with this anymore. In her mind, this is done. Over with. They are finished.}

Oh, really, Yasmin? You don't need me - you can look after yourself? Because from what I've seen so far, you've already made a really wonderful choice in your little boy-toy, who for all we know could be lurking around somewhere. But, don't listen to me. I'm so stupid, and clearly you know exactly what you're doing. Just don't come complaining when everything goes tits up and you're left to pick up the pieces. (Davin smirks condescendingly at her, busying himself with another can of beer as she turns her back. He takes a swig of the liquid, trying to calm himself down. There was no point getting angry, he'd have to leave soon enough, anyway. It's only when she begins talking again, does the rage pick up and he finds himself on his feet, standing over her with a clenched jaw.) No. You didn't ask for me to be here, but god knows what may have happened if I hadn't showed up. You should be thanking me, rather than bitching at me whenever you get the chance. I've given up everything to be here right now, in this shit hole of a city where it's freezing all the fucking time and the wifi is shit. The only compliment that I can give it is at least the vodka is on tap. (He throws the can to one side in frustration, his hands clenched into fists.) No. No. I'm not fucking happy. I'm not leaving this bloody country until you do, because I don't trust you to be here on your own without getting yourself killed.