|
|
Post by Typhoid on Dec 18, 2007 21:57:13 GMT -5
Her expression sobered a bit. "Wanda?" she asked softly.
|
|
|
|
Post by Pietro Maximoff on Dec 18, 2007 22:02:34 GMT -5
::Pietro nodded, setting the gin on the bar.:: "Yes."
|
|
|
|
Post by Typhoid on Dec 18, 2007 22:10:46 GMT -5
"I wish I could change it for you," she said quietly.
|
|
|
|
Post by Pietro Maximoff on Dec 18, 2007 22:13:30 GMT -5
::Pietro appreciated the sentiment behind that; he wished he could fix the situation also.:: "I didn't meant to draw you into this."
|
|
|
|
Post by Typhoid on Dec 18, 2007 22:20:05 GMT -5
"You didn't draw me in. It's just...what family does," she replied, referring to herself as family sounding odd to her ears.
|
|
|
|
Post by Pietro Maximoff on Dec 18, 2007 22:30:48 GMT -5
::Despite it all, Pietro's spirits lifted at that, hearing Rossignol refer to herself as family. He had spoken that way of her before, but she tended to not verbally reciprocate.:: "They do, but family protects, and so I brought this upon us."
|
|
|
|
Post by Typhoid on Dec 18, 2007 22:37:19 GMT -5
"Pietro...you can't protect everyone from everything," she said, voice still soft.
|
|
|
|
Post by Pietro Maximoff on Dec 18, 2007 22:41:11 GMT -5
"I should have protected her." ::Pietro's voice rose, from anger at himself and recrimination. His hand had remained around the glass, though it sat on the bar. At that, his grip tightened, until it shattered, sending gin over his arm and glass across the bar.::
|
|
|
|
Post by Typhoid on Dec 18, 2007 22:44:28 GMT -5
People turned around at the sound of the glass shattering, and Ty froze for a second, tempted to simply use her powers to take care of the mess but then remembering where she was. She said nothing for a moment, instead signalling the bartender for a cloth to clean up and taking Pietro's hand, examining it, calmly. Raising her voice would only cause more of a problem. "Are you hurt?"
|
|
|
|
Post by Pietro Maximoff on Dec 18, 2007 22:52:35 GMT -5
::Pietro glanced down at his hand, small cuts, nothing more. He healed quickly. His arm was soaked with gin, and he brought his other hand to wipe it down.:: "Yes."
|
|
|
|
Post by Typhoid on Dec 18, 2007 23:05:01 GMT -5
The bartender had brought two cloths, handing Typhoid one and cleaning the counter with the other, an annoyed look on his face. Ty thanked him, smiling sweetly, and his expression cleared. Mentally giving an eyeroll at the predictability of that working, she handed Pietro the cloth so he could dry his arm. "I meant your hand, not your heart," she said quietly, meaning her question.
|
|
|
|
Post by Pietro Maximoff on Dec 18, 2007 23:14:06 GMT -5
::Pietro took the cloth and wrapped it around his hand, pressing to stop the bleeding.:: "It isn't damaged badly."
|
|
|
|
Post by Typhoid on Dec 18, 2007 23:20:00 GMT -5
Ty could accept that- she'd seen him come back from fighting, had seen him take worse then this. "I...don't know how to make this better, Pietro." It was almost defeat, but it was honest.
|
|
|
|
Post by Pietro Maximoff on Dec 18, 2007 23:30:47 GMT -5
::Pietro tied the end of the cloth, so he did not need to hold it. He sighed, the defeat in her voice was painful.:: "I don't know either."
|
|
|
|
Post by Typhoid on Dec 18, 2007 23:40:49 GMT -5
The night seemed suddenly hollow, and she didn't feel like celebrating it. "Once I finish my drink...did you want to go back?"
|
|
