[ Thomas stares at the peace offering, which shuts him up alongside March.
The gesture is one Thomas could conceivably find insulting if he put his mind to it. He's in a foul enough mood he could whip together the false dignity to be affronted by the presumption. He could forego excuse entirely and lash out all the same, slap the bottle from the other man's hand for the sake of breaking something.
What stops him, more than the offering of reconciliation or the lapse into quiet, is the impassivity of the other man's expression. He's familiar with that sort of indifference. It makes all ranting and ire absurd in the face of it.
Thomas takes the bottle, sweaty fingers squeaking over glass in the abrupt silence. He takes one hard, short swig from it and offers it back, staring at March with brittle uncertainty. ]
Do they not have the moon where you come from?
[ He asks, roughly but quietly, anger restrained like it's been yanked back on a leash. ]
no subject
The gesture is one Thomas could conceivably find insulting if he put his mind to it. He's in a foul enough mood he could whip together the false dignity to be affronted by the presumption. He could forego excuse entirely and lash out all the same, slap the bottle from the other man's hand for the sake of breaking something.
What stops him, more than the offering of reconciliation or the lapse into quiet, is the impassivity of the other man's expression. He's familiar with that sort of indifference. It makes all ranting and ire absurd in the face of it.
Thomas takes the bottle, sweaty fingers squeaking over glass in the abrupt silence. He takes one hard, short swig from it and offers it back, staring at March with brittle uncertainty. ]
Do they not have the moon where you come from?
[ He asks, roughly but quietly, anger restrained like it's been yanked back on a leash. ]