[And maybe he should like parties better than he does. He's always been good at making his own entertainment, after all, and there's plenty that parties offer in the way of diversions. An odd conversation in a private garden is just one of those things, and he has to admit, he's enjoying this. But this, what they're doing right here, isn't precisely a party, is it? It just happens to be attached to one. It's a moment of calm outside of the whirlwind inside. And it sounds as though she enjoys the whirlwind much more than he himself does.]
Or when someone tells me I gotta attend one.
[Because there're plenty of those, too, aren't there? Parties he'd never go to on his own, ones where he feels self-conscious and out of his depth, trying to navigate in a world that everyone had always wanted him to prepare himself for but that he's never quite fit into, no matter who his father is, no matter who had raised him. He shrugs, as though it's perfectly normal to be instructed to attend parties, and maybe it is; everyone has business they must attend to, or families to please, and for him, those two things are almost synonymous.
But she still doesn't seem to know who he is, and he wonders whether, if she knew who he worked for, who he associated with, she'd recognize those names, either. She's described herself as a fool, but he doubts that she's completely unaware of what's going on in the world around her. Just by sitting here, just by speaking to her, does he somehow exude the telltale signs of being a criminal, a gangster, someone doomed to hell, from his very pores?]
no subject
[And maybe he should like parties better than he does. He's always been good at making his own entertainment, after all, and there's plenty that parties offer in the way of diversions. An odd conversation in a private garden is just one of those things, and he has to admit, he's enjoying this. But this, what they're doing right here, isn't precisely a party, is it? It just happens to be attached to one. It's a moment of calm outside of the whirlwind inside. And it sounds as though she enjoys the whirlwind much more than he himself does.]
Or when someone tells me I gotta attend one.
[Because there're plenty of those, too, aren't there? Parties he'd never go to on his own, ones where he feels self-conscious and out of his depth, trying to navigate in a world that everyone had always wanted him to prepare himself for but that he's never quite fit into, no matter who his father is, no matter who had raised him. He shrugs, as though it's perfectly normal to be instructed to attend parties, and maybe it is; everyone has business they must attend to, or families to please, and for him, those two things are almost synonymous.
But she still doesn't seem to know who he is, and he wonders whether, if she knew who he worked for, who he associated with, she'd recognize those names, either. She's described herself as a fool, but he doubts that she's completely unaware of what's going on in the world around her. Just by sitting here, just by speaking to her, does he somehow exude the telltale signs of being a criminal, a gangster, someone doomed to hell, from his very pores?]