Post by . Pravda on Feb 7, 2011 1:12:59 GMT -8
Blood had dried and caked against the split skin of his knuckles. He had almost forgotten about the state of his hands, though now he ran the pad of his thumb gently against the minor wounds. No concern was evident on his face, and instead he seemed apathetic. It seemed the feeling wasn't mutual, as a young woman's voice spoke up to cut through the imposed silence.
"Darcy," He didn't offer any sort of response. Frustrated, she tried once more. "Darcy, for heaven's sake, please let me tend to your hands. I don't approve of you strutting about with them like that, as though they're some sort of token from that awful fight."
The corner of his chapped lips twitched slightly. The temptation to smile had been strong, but Darcy suppressed the urge with practiced ease. The fight had been anything but awful. He'd been the victor! The thought alone eased the pains that had troubled him before: the sharp sting of the broken skin, the ache of his ribs, the steady throb against his collarbone. Something new came to his attention as he examined his hands, noticing he'd lost a fingernail.
"Darcy, he won't like this."
The brunette's head snapped up, paying attention to the woman's attempts at last. A moment passed. Now she looked like she regretted bringing the diplomat up.
"He doesn't like much," Tone gruff, Darcy seemed uninterested in the topic, at least in tone. Hazel eyes spoke otherwise, focused intently upon the one sitting adjacent to him. "You're acting like his god damn pawn, Anna. This was on my own time, and I don't want to hear nothin' the political hell that he thinks is going to take us all."
Her mouth was set in a fine line by the time he finished. "You know that's a lie."
Darcy grabbed his coat from the back of his chair, on his feet in a heartbeat. "You know what? Why don't you just talk to the tea set, it'll do you just as much good. I need a smoke." With that, his exit was made. A flustered Anna glanced to the fine china atop the side table before she released a short exhale.
Why did things never go smoothly in this business?
"Darcy," He didn't offer any sort of response. Frustrated, she tried once more. "Darcy, for heaven's sake, please let me tend to your hands. I don't approve of you strutting about with them like that, as though they're some sort of token from that awful fight."
The corner of his chapped lips twitched slightly. The temptation to smile had been strong, but Darcy suppressed the urge with practiced ease. The fight had been anything but awful. He'd been the victor! The thought alone eased the pains that had troubled him before: the sharp sting of the broken skin, the ache of his ribs, the steady throb against his collarbone. Something new came to his attention as he examined his hands, noticing he'd lost a fingernail.
"Darcy, he won't like this."
The brunette's head snapped up, paying attention to the woman's attempts at last. A moment passed. Now she looked like she regretted bringing the diplomat up.
"He doesn't like much," Tone gruff, Darcy seemed uninterested in the topic, at least in tone. Hazel eyes spoke otherwise, focused intently upon the one sitting adjacent to him. "You're acting like his god damn pawn, Anna. This was on my own time, and I don't want to hear nothin' the political hell that he thinks is going to take us all."
Her mouth was set in a fine line by the time he finished. "You know that's a lie."
Darcy grabbed his coat from the back of his chair, on his feet in a heartbeat. "You know what? Why don't you just talk to the tea set, it'll do you just as much good. I need a smoke." With that, his exit was made. A flustered Anna glanced to the fine china atop the side table before she released a short exhale.
Why did things never go smoothly in this business?