[She exhales on a wavering, high note, more of a breathless cry than any resemblance to a laugh, a sound of relief and bleak irony at the ridiculousness of the situation, at herself for becoming so easily upset, at him for doing his best to remedy the sour turn of speech. She shakes her head, with none of the wild hysteria he may have been anticipating, and accepts his apology without further fuss, already terribly embarrassed by her own girlish turn of emotions, from laughter to tears and back again.]
We've both had some to drink.
[She offers, some feeble explanation to excuse both of their behaviors, realizing the earnesty in his face even through the light veil of smoke. After all, she has her vices just as he, and she too has spoken things better left unsaid, or even voiced thoughts she had instantly regretted: teasing remarks taken too far, or quiet comments infused with an unthinkable sense of bitterness. To consider him unforgivable or beyond redemption because of a thoughtless comment would be the most unkind thing of all.
After all, all he had been trying to do was offer her a kindness.
Her worries quieted, she attempts to settle back into her comfortable seating arrangement, but the sudden brush of heat—the moment of contact, the heavy pinstripe of his trousers against the fragile lace of her skirt—makes her think better of it, and she remains where she is. Never mind how the accidental touch catches her breath in her throat, feeling as silly as a schoolgirl, for fussing over how her legs are crossed or not.]
no subject
We've both had some to drink.
[She offers, some feeble explanation to excuse both of their behaviors, realizing the earnesty in his face even through the light veil of smoke. After all, she has her vices just as he, and she too has spoken things better left unsaid, or even voiced thoughts she had instantly regretted: teasing remarks taken too far, or quiet comments infused with an unthinkable sense of bitterness. To consider him unforgivable or beyond redemption because of a thoughtless comment would be the most unkind thing of all.
After all, all he had been trying to do was offer her a kindness.
Her worries quieted, she attempts to settle back into her comfortable seating arrangement, but the sudden brush of heat—the moment of contact, the heavy pinstripe of his trousers against the fragile lace of her skirt—makes her think better of it, and she remains where she is. Never mind how the accidental touch catches her breath in her throat, feeling as silly as a schoolgirl, for fussing over how her legs are crossed or not.]