"No blame game, mousy brother," she says, tsking. "Hurt is hurt. You were wrong. He was wrong. Already talked to him. Disappointed. You both disappointed me so."
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for so many people to be involved. It was just supposed to be..." But he's not sure what it was supposed to be. "I didn't want to hurt him. Not really. Not at first."
Miniver has a Marlowe staring at him. A Marlowe dressed in black, with his arms crossed and a dagger on his belt, and a Marlowe whose left eye is bright and cold and hard.
"Have fun?" He asks and, yes, his voice has always been soft, but now there is a coolness to it like a snake in the grass. A voice to crawl along your skin, if you were so inclined to be spooked from it.
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"Not only did you cause useless hurt, you ended up hurt back."
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"He started it."
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Not on the scones or tea. That would be messy.
But she's on his table and looking at him.
"Mousy mousy, shame on you. Shame on him. Both hurt each other, two who were already hurting so much."
It's a full moon tonight, which might explain her sort of sing-song voice as she says it.
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"He started it," is the oh-so-mature reply.
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She says this with a quiet, wide-eyed sadness.
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"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for so many people to be involved. It was just supposed to be..." But he's not sure what it was supposed to be. "I didn't want to hurt him. Not really. Not at first."
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"You are hurt."
Again.
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How?"
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"I kind of got into a fight with my ex-lover."
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shit.
Miniver sinks down a little. Possibly trying to hide behind a teacup. Ineffectually.
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"Have fun?" He asks and, yes, his voice has always been soft, but now there is a coolness to it like a snake in the grass. A voice to crawl along your skin, if you were so inclined to be spooked from it.
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"Not really, thanks for asking."
He LOOKS like he shouldn't be out of the infirmary. Or at least his room.
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