She may. Then again, if she doesn't it means she's tucked safely back into 'er own life. Not exactly a losing proposition.
[For some reason he doesn't sound entirely convinced. Possibly because he remembers that one time when she came from her own future where she was totally messed up.]
C'mon by, luv. Wear something nice and I'll take you somewhere idiotically posh where we can get soused in style and watch everyone seethe in envy over you.
Oh, yeah, this's a good few flights up from how I usually part ways with friends. Not sure why everyone's so given to treating going home like it's synonymous with dying.
Well, it's simply that we make connections with these people whom we wouldn't otherwise connect with. It makes the want to go home difficult, and when they disappear, it's like losing them. and when they don't come back, we've now lost them forever.
It'd be easier if I didn't have a bloody star smack dab in the middle of my forehead like some bloody third eye. And...it's not home.
That's life though, innit, Betts. You move on from one thing to another, leave the old one laying behind you. And maybe you could go hunt up old mates, but realistically, what're the chances? Not sure it's different, really, whether it's a world or a universe between you.
[Ooookay, normally stuff like that stays on the internal voice-track. Moving on.]
I found the English cared a bit less than the Americans when I was over there a few years from now. [Tense-twisting antics amuse him.] London still felt the same, but I imagine that's not quite the same as 'home.'
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[For some reason he doesn't sound entirely convinced. Possibly because he remembers that one time when she came from her own future where she was totally messed up.]
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C'mon by, luv. Wear something nice and I'll take you somewhere idiotically posh where we can get soused in style and watch everyone seethe in envy over you.
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[ His voice is a bit tight. ]
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Sure. I'll make her give a bell if she turns back up.
[He pauses.]
May be the best thing for 'er, for wot it's worth. I think the place was getting hard for her to stomach.
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You going to be alright, love?
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How's the holiday in the English countryside?
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It'd be easier if I didn't have a bloody star smack dab in the middle of my forehead like some bloody third eye. And...it's not home.
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[Ooookay, normally stuff like that stays on the internal voice-track. Moving on.]
I found the English cared a bit less than the Americans when I was over there a few years from now. [Tense-twisting antics amuse him.] London still felt the same, but I imagine that's not quite the same as 'home.'
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I owe her more than I could easily repay. I hope she comes back so that I could at least give it a try.
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