Nothing. Just...[He wonders if this was a bad idea. That notion is sudden, leaning against the counter and staring at her. At one point she was his right hand woman, his partner, his confidant.] sadness.
Loss.
[Like looking at her.] There's nothing I can't do in the long run.
[He almost says Madame Masque. Almost. But she's not. His mouth twists into something pained before he starts spooning food onto his plate] What do you want me to call you?
no subject
Loss.
[Like looking at her.] There's nothing I can't do in the long run.
[He almost says Madame Masque. Almost. But she's not. His mouth twists into something pained before he starts spooning food onto his plate] What do you want me to call you?