charloft; 03/03
Do you:
A: wear your heart on your sleeve?
OR
B: play your cards close to the vest?
Fine
She asks him a simple question. The kind someone always asks of a person they haven't seen for six months. He knows she doesn't mean anything by it other than politeness. Have to be polite, after all.
How have you been?
He waits two minutes to start writing his response. He takes another ten just to write it.
There are drafts. There are five drafts, each shorter than the rest, each discarded before he writes one word, no explanation.
(draft one) Fine. The world was destroyed by an alien invasion. Those who survived the War - which we somehow won - got to live in a world that was battered beyond recognition. I spent my family fortune and my life trying to rebuild it, and people still hated me because I'm a mutant. I've been peachy.
(daft two) Fine. My dad ripped off a third of my skull trying to defend my mother when she didn't even need or want defending. I've lost vision in one eye and my telepathic abilities have been stunted. Oh, and he ran away for five years until I tracked him down and finally convinced him I don't care. I'm doing great.
(draft three) Fine. I've somehow become head of the Hellfire Club, despite never wanting responsibility. My first act as White King was to kill the only woman who was a real threat to my power. Not my mother. She gave up a long time ago.
(draft four) Fine. Better than you, really. You died. Don't worry, though, I killed him.
(draft five) I keep killing people just to survive, and I never wanted...
Fine, he answers.
One word, no explanation.
A/N: The jumping off point of the question (and draft four's subject) used with permission of laws_of_dawes.
A: wear your heart on your sleeve?
OR
B: play your cards close to the vest?
Fine
She asks him a simple question. The kind someone always asks of a person they haven't seen for six months. He knows she doesn't mean anything by it other than politeness. Have to be polite, after all.
How have you been?
He waits two minutes to start writing his response. He takes another ten just to write it.
There are drafts. There are five drafts, each shorter than the rest, each discarded before he writes one word, no explanation.
(draft one) Fine. The world was destroyed by an alien invasion. Those who survived the War - which we somehow won - got to live in a world that was battered beyond recognition. I spent my family fortune and my life trying to rebuild it, and people still hated me because I'm a mutant. I've been peachy.
(daft two) Fine. My dad ripped off a third of my skull trying to defend my mother when she didn't even need or want defending. I've lost vision in one eye and my telepathic abilities have been stunted. Oh, and he ran away for five years until I tracked him down and finally convinced him I don't care. I'm doing great.
(draft three) Fine. I've somehow become head of the Hellfire Club, despite never wanting responsibility. My first act as White King was to kill the only woman who was a real threat to my power. Not my mother. She gave up a long time ago.
(draft four) Fine. Better than you, really. You died. Don't worry, though, I killed him.
(draft five) I keep killing people just to survive, and I never wanted...
Fine, he answers.
One word, no explanation.
A/N: The jumping off point of the question (and draft four's subject) used with permission of laws_of_dawes.