08-23-2015, 08:51 PM
| a long way from from a firework daze but I still like to burn, burn, burn Her eyes are sharp, her voice sharper still, and he finds himself simultaneously amused and saddened by it. Even his surface understanding of her (something made easier by his quick digestion of her swirling thoughts) let him know that this was not her—not really. Someone had molded her into this bitter facade of who she once was, and he found himself frowning because of it. In a past life, he may have been the one to have done this to another—he was not always kind to strangers—but he had mellowed with age. When he was unkind now, it was usually with good reason; at least he liked to think so. “No need,” he responds easily, smoothing over the edge to her words. “I have already informed one and have thus filled both of our social duties for the day. Keep the warning in your pocket for a future time.” He sighs lightly, enjoying the ease he felt in the uneasy situation. Dempsey knew that she would much rather he be gone, but he had made it a habit to make his welcome wherever he pleased a long time ago. There was not much that could be done to ruffle his proverbial feathers or make him go away. Not unless he wanted to go. Which is why he is able to chuckle again before shaking his head. “Laughing with you, I assure you. Never at you. At least not now.” He looks at her, his gaze warm and flecked with the same gold of his coat. “And that depends—do you feel like the mood is lighter?” He angles his head, considering it for a second, but barely has a second to truly consider the question before her walls go up and the air between them is electric with tension. It wasn’t his first rodeo though; he had navigated these waters before. “Oh, it’s hardly worth the fight, Oksana,” he lightly admonishes her, “although if you are looking for an easy target, feel free to pick me.” His expression is as calm as hers is turbulent and he lets the silence hang between them for a second before he explains, “Getting angry at a mind reader for reading minds is as futile as getting angry at a bird for flying—it’s as natural as breathing to me. I won’t apologize for it.” Shifting his weight, he lets out a breath into the night air. It wasn’t that he didn't understand her anger or sympathize with it, but he was long past the age of reconciling his ways or feeling bad for what he was. He was an old dog who simply had no interest in learning new tricks. “Instead of taking out your anger on me (although you can if you want, I understand that helps some people), why don’t we actually focus on what is truly hurting you?” He doesn’t touch her, but he does angle his head toward her again, “Of course, we could ignore it and find an amusing past time if you prefer. I am quite good at diversions.” ashley and wren’s mind-reading nomad of a son I'm always (I'm always) in the haze of a car crash |