[ He had not realized that the ball of feathers was so sharp inside... He had treated it with the affection a dog shows for a toy. A little rough, of course, but always beloved. This new side to the things intrigues him, deepens his interest in it. He lets one of the poky little cogs run past the back of his finger, scratch at his skin before he pulls his hand back. His expression wavers, like he's not sure which one he wants to choose. He purses his lips eventually, neutral.
His voice lowers, whispering where he sits close at Brandon's shoulder. ]
Could be, could not. We've been, and gone. If...
[ There are things that shouldn't be said and Ivor knows that, shoulders hunching up. ]
no subject
His voice lowers, whispering where he sits close at Brandon's shoulder. ]
Could be, could not. We've been, and gone. If...
[ There are things that shouldn't be said and Ivor knows that, shoulders hunching up. ]
If it let us.
[ The Hill. The House. ]