[ maybe he'd feel guilty, if he were anyone other than himself. this guy - whoever he is - doesn't boast the way most company officials do. with their big words and clean hands and fucking strutting-rooster attitudes.
this one - well, he kind of looks like roy himself. the kind of guy that turns around and sees ghosts. ]
Bilgewater probably smells better.
[ another burbling spill of laughter, roy dropping his elbows onto his thighs. he'd come to mock, not to befriend.
but the lack of military dismissal - the inattention to his wheelchair - well, maybe roy'd judged him wrong. ]
Careful - you hang around here long enough, you'll start forgetting there's anything sweeter out there.
[ hanzo is a dragon, and dragons never toggle the authority on and off: they live it. it's beneath him, to blow fire in people's faces without provocation— his father always told him that true aristocracy does not demand fear, because fear pilfered instead of earned is cheap.
a longwinded way for hanzo to justify his stupidity in humoring this stranger, but. he's done stupider.
he calls for two glasses from the bartender, slides an empty cup along to roy, and—
—curiously enough, also gets him a glass of water. ]
Hm. No admonishment about my failure to understand how the other half lives.
Surprising.
[ quite the contrary: roy offers him a warning. how refreshing. ]
[ roy stares down into the glass of water, watching his reflection ripple upon its surface. it looks like little more than a smear of dirt. ]
I used to be up there with the lot of you, y'know.
[ ignoring the glass, he folds his arms over the table, resting his forehead against his wrists. the blood-red undersides of his eyelids. someone coughing in the background. a whining dog. ]
I was - [ he turns his head, one dark eye opening to fix itself on the sorry guy who'd stooped to show him kindness. ] an actor. Maybe you even saw me up there on the silver screen. Took your lady for a night out and - [ a grin, showing all of his teeth. ]
[ roy has an open-book face, the kind that's sprawled open with the best pages on display and all the rest glued shut. he says he's an actor and there's a strange comfort in knowing that. it allows hanzo to tell himself that anything positive he derives from this interaction is a matter of benevolent roleplay.
hanzo doesn't smile in return. his teeth have grown too sharp to. ]
A likely story.
[ the whiskey floods, amber-brown into his empty glass. the poor lighting in the bar gives the drink a semblance of viscosity, a warning that hanzo will be scraping the alcohol from his throat for days to come.
instead of tipping the glass to his lips, he keeps his eyes locked on roy and lets the shadow it casts play along the tattoo on his forearm.
(he almost asks roy if his abundance of love cost him his legs. projecting.) ]
But your hubris drove her back to me.
[ a hypothetical woman that doesn't exist. they are so profoundly lonely for having this conversation at all. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
this one - well, he kind of looks like roy himself. the kind of guy that turns around and sees ghosts. ]
Bilgewater probably smells better.
[ another burbling spill of laughter, roy dropping his elbows onto his thighs. he'd come to mock, not to befriend.
but the lack of military dismissal - the inattention to his wheelchair - well, maybe roy'd judged him wrong. ]
Careful - you hang around here long enough, you'll start forgetting there's anything sweeter out there.
no subject
a longwinded way for hanzo to justify his stupidity in humoring this stranger, but. he's done stupider.
he calls for two glasses from the bartender, slides an empty cup along to roy, and—
—curiously enough, also gets him a glass of water. ]
Hm. No admonishment about my failure to understand how the other half lives.
Surprising.
[ quite the contrary: roy offers him a warning. how refreshing. ]
no subject
I used to be up there with the lot of you, y'know.
[ ignoring the glass, he folds his arms over the table, resting his forehead against his wrists. the blood-red undersides of his eyelids. someone coughing in the background. a whining dog. ]
I was - [ he turns his head, one dark eye opening to fix itself on the sorry guy who'd stooped to show him kindness. ] an actor. Maybe you even saw me up there on the silver screen. Took your lady for a night out and - [ a grin, showing all of his teeth. ]
Maybe she fell in love with my face before yours.
no subject
hanzo doesn't smile in return. his teeth have grown too sharp to. ]
A likely story.
[ the whiskey floods, amber-brown into his empty glass. the poor lighting in the bar gives the drink a semblance of viscosity, a warning that hanzo will be scraping the alcohol from his throat for days to come.
instead of tipping the glass to his lips, he keeps his eyes locked on roy and lets the shadow it casts play along the tattoo on his forearm.
(he almost asks roy if his abundance of love cost him his legs. projecting.) ]
But your hubris drove her back to me.
[ a hypothetical woman that doesn't exist. they are so profoundly lonely for having this conversation at all. ]