NATE
Nate had hoped he was alone. He’d been looking forward to it actually, basking in intentional solitude, instead of the isolation that’s been forced onto him at home. Even in the middle of the jungle, he can’t get what he wants, can he?
A sharp stare is thrown towards the other man, a halfhearted snarl twisting his lips. ”Do I look like some kind of fucking teenager?” Sneering words don’t stop his one good eye from wandering out over the horizon again, from dipping down into the misty void below. He’s not going to jump, but it’s tempting. Just so long as he thinks about it like flying, and not falling, just as long as he doesn’t think about the ground.
Stepping back from the edge, Nate steps towards the stranger, one eyed gaze narrowing as he tries (and fails) to pick out some measure of familiarity. ”I didn’t think I’d run into anyone this deep in the jungle.” There is no small measure of suspicion in his voice, his head cocking in a silent question as he steps closer.
A sharp stare is thrown towards the other man, a halfhearted snarl twisting his lips. ”Do I look like some kind of fucking teenager?” Sneering words don’t stop his one good eye from wandering out over the horizon again, from dipping down into the misty void below. He’s not going to jump, but it’s tempting. Just so long as he thinks about it like flying, and not falling, just as long as he doesn’t think about the ground.
Stepping back from the edge, Nate steps towards the stranger, one eyed gaze narrowing as he tries (and fails) to pick out some measure of familiarity. ”I didn’t think I’d run into anyone this deep in the jungle.” There is no small measure of suspicion in his voice, his head cocking in a silent question as he steps closer.
Is there an acceptable result?
Do we mean something when we talk?
Do we mean something when we talk?
