[ 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. ]
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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. ]