I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art
Oh, you absolute fucking idiot.
Whatever thoughts were starting to barrage and batter against Jack's mental wall, everything slid into a faint ringing in his ears, a strange hum as it dawned on him what he had said. What he had said it in response to, and what that meant. Gods, he could see the cogs turning in her head, the way things fit into place, the questions, the assumptions.
Jack stood very still on the sand in the moonlight, his expression blank, if not just a touch disappointed. In himself rather than in Eloise, it appeared, for when he flicked his wrist the thin, sharp blade appeared in his hand once more. Methodically, he wiped it on the leg of his pants, testing the point of it on his thumb (it welled with blood instantly), before gazing back at his navigator.
The jig was up. Only one thing for it. He began to advance across the sand.
Whatever thoughts were starting to barrage and batter against Jack's mental wall, everything slid into a faint ringing in his ears, a strange hum as it dawned on him what he had said. What he had said it in response to, and what that meant. Gods, he could see the cogs turning in her head, the way things fit into place, the questions, the assumptions.
Jack stood very still on the sand in the moonlight, his expression blank, if not just a touch disappointed. In himself rather than in Eloise, it appeared, for when he flicked his wrist the thin, sharp blade appeared in his hand once more. Methodically, he wiped it on the leg of his pants, testing the point of it on his thumb (it welled with blood instantly), before gazing back at his navigator.
The jig was up. Only one thing for it. He began to advance across the sand.
