( his lips twitch, almost to a smile, at miss bennet's very brief report. he was under no illusions that the life of a genteel woman wasn't dull, especially one who didn't have a household to run like miss bennet. perhaps he hoped she would entertain an invalid as him and heighten and embellish her activities to make them more interesting. but, she seems to be the forthright, honest type and atticus would dare not fault her for that. after all, one participant in this conversation needs to be candid in their words.
grunting softly, he leans over to take the glass from her with the hand not clutching his injured side. ) Not now, thank you.
( he sips the hungary water, grimacing as the drink burned a path down his throat. it sits uneasily in his stomach, like a boat rocking on choppy waves. he never developed the taste for brandy in the first place but his distaste is noticeably apparent. after a few years of rich meals, fresh food, clean water, and healthy air, his stomach would have to reacclimatize itself back to rot and staleness. as he takes a second sip, atticus regrets declining tea; however, if he had tea, he would not taste the hungary water again. the relief soon provided by the tonic would outweigh the momentary pleasure of tea.
he leans against the back of the sofa with the glass resting on his thigh. the movement causes the fire at his side to burn hotter but the alleviation of his sore back, which had been bent at an unnatural angle for some time, is of some comfort. his breath rattles out, like a breeze through the barren branches of a forest. ) Please, continue. What is the piece of music?
( it's impolite — downright cruel to mention music to a music lover such as atticus without elaboration. besides, as he requested, he will have conversation with miss bennet. )
no subject
grunting softly, he leans over to take the glass from her with the hand not clutching his injured side. ) Not now, thank you.
( he sips the hungary water, grimacing as the drink burned a path down his throat. it sits uneasily in his stomach, like a boat rocking on choppy waves. he never developed the taste for brandy in the first place but his distaste is noticeably apparent. after a few years of rich meals, fresh food, clean water, and healthy air, his stomach would have to reacclimatize itself back to rot and staleness. as he takes a second sip, atticus regrets declining tea; however, if he had tea, he would not taste the hungary water again. the relief soon provided by the tonic would outweigh the momentary pleasure of tea.
he leans against the back of the sofa with the glass resting on his thigh. the movement causes the fire at his side to burn hotter but the alleviation of his sore back, which had been bent at an unnatural angle for some time, is of some comfort. his breath rattles out, like a breeze through the barren branches of a forest. ) Please, continue. What is the piece of music?
( it's impolite — downright cruel to mention music to a music lover such as atticus without elaboration. besides, as he requested, he will have conversation with miss bennet. )