It's been a few hours. No, the tea didn't help; he's nervous, twitchy, can't keep still. Obviously the thing to do is wall himself up in a kitchen and cook with ridiculous amounts of onions.
[[OOC: private to
stripesandheels. Adult content further down.]]
Higher than a fucking kite, would be the expression.]
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[Quiet, pattering self-justification. He judges, by now, that the room's clear enough to uncover his food again.]
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[She smiles.]
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I wish you hadn't. I said don't push.
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[The three meter perimeter of 'do not enter' will have to ensure that much. It's as much for her as it is for him.]
Because then you'd be close, and I'd have to shoot you, and I don't want to do that.
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[Whisking the eggs, slowly. Hello, eggs. Their surface rises in milky bubbles.]
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[She points out, quite reasonably, she feels.]
I'm not going to. I think I am going to shoot your double, though.
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When you go back?
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[Which definitely ought to be a good thing.]
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[This is what she gets for mixing medication and booze, really, she should have. The high isn't going to be worth the regret in the morning.]
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You - [hurt me, you hurt me] - don't listen to words, Matt. I tell you no, you don't want to hear it. [The whisking picks up again.] I push you off, you come back. I don't-
[It drops to a mumble, as he scoops rice into the bowl.]
I didn't want you to be like the rest of them. I liked you.
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