[ Dryly, ] And that surely would've been a tragedy.
[ He ducks to one side to wash up, scrubbing the dirt from his hands and arms.
Dinner itself is tense and quiet, though Faraday answers questions when he's addressed, maintains his usual sense of levity. He makes a few jokes, offers an anecdote here and there, but otherwise he keeps his silence.
They don't bring up the events of the afternoon, which is just as well to him. Probably best Anne knows as little as possible, and Faraday imagines any conversation to be had about how things transpired would only lead to another argument. (Faraday, for his part, hasn't quite expended all the ways to call Alec a fool for what he did, and he still fumes silently over it all.)
After dinner, Faraday sticks around only long enough to gather up a few of the dirty dishes, but he escapes to the porch after that, breathing in the warm night air. With a cigar perched between his lips, he fishes into his pockets for his box of matches – and finds he comes up short. Might've left them in town. Might've left them in his nightstand in the room. Might've tucked them away into Jack's saddlebags, somewhere. Either way, his search yields no results, and he makes an aggravated noise as he pulls the cigar from his mouth. ]
no subject
[ He ducks to one side to wash up, scrubbing the dirt from his hands and arms.
Dinner itself is tense and quiet, though Faraday answers questions when he's addressed, maintains his usual sense of levity. He makes a few jokes, offers an anecdote here and there, but otherwise he keeps his silence.
They don't bring up the events of the afternoon, which is just as well to him. Probably best Anne knows as little as possible, and Faraday imagines any conversation to be had about how things transpired would only lead to another argument. (Faraday, for his part, hasn't quite expended all the ways to call Alec a fool for what he did, and he still fumes silently over it all.)
After dinner, Faraday sticks around only long enough to gather up a few of the dirty dishes, but he escapes to the porch after that, breathing in the warm night air. With a cigar perched between his lips, he fishes into his pockets for his box of matches – and finds he comes up short. Might've left them in town. Might've left them in his nightstand in the room. Might've tucked them away into Jack's saddlebags, somewhere. Either way, his search yields no results, and he makes an aggravated noise as he pulls the cigar from his mouth. ]