it's not your fault that you're always wrong
Did Jack need anything? A lot of help, in a lot of different and very detailed ways. But for Eloise right then? He painstakingly shook his head. "Booze prolly ain't the wisest idea for me," he admitted, his tone the one of a man who has definitely tried that particular remedy in the past. He didn't quite know how to react as she sank down onto the side of his bunk, the flurry of concern a strange balm compared to the static of her tipsy thoughts.
"How kind of you to say so," he muttered, rubbing at his forehead, though he had neither the energy nor the pain threshold to be bothered with any real vitriol beyond what he had already tried to summon. "It'll pass. It always does. Sorry to kill your hopes that you might be rid of me." He snorted. "How come you ain't at port, really?"
"How kind of you to say so," he muttered, rubbing at his forehead, though he had neither the energy nor the pain threshold to be bothered with any real vitriol beyond what he had already tried to summon. "It'll pass. It always does. Sorry to kill your hopes that you might be rid of me." He snorted. "How come you ain't at port, really?"
