@trusight sent from The Mentalist
“ He irks me. He’s irksome. “
❛ Everyone irks you. ❜ States Cardan cooly, more as a matter of fact rather than a counter-protest. Max is temperamental and capricious, with words that cut as sharp as knives; she has been since the moment they met, and he does not expect that to change in the future ― in fact, her speaking her mind with an evident absence of a filter is what he likes most about her. Like calls to like, the old Folk would say when he was still in Elfhame, though he never did understand it until now, until that unlikely, semblance of a friendship was formed, although, one would beg to argue that Max is the closest thing he has to a friend.
He casts his gaze down, at his manicured digits whose paint has become chapped around the edges through thick, long lashes as his index fingers begins to poke a piece of black nail polish threatening to break off, not even looking up to see who the irksome person in question is. Probably the chocolate-skinned boy Max dated a while back, or the equally irksome set of friends he comes in a match with. Or the mortal, dark-haired and board game-obsessed boy with whom himself shares an admittedly questionable resemblance. He is quite irksome as well. ❛ Are you going to tell me who the said he is, or am I supposed to feign interest and inquire about it some more until you inevitably give in ? ❜
