[ Marcille quiets down, deflating as Ishmael meets her eye. She folds both of her arms over the bar, making a little nest for her head. Any mirth escapes out of her like a tide pulling back. Exhaustion rushes in. ]
S'not like we really have a choice...
[ She murmurs, petulant. Her gaze slides off to a corner of the bar. ]
You would if you could though, right? Live a longer life.
no subject
S'not like we really have a choice...
[ She murmurs, petulant. Her gaze slides off to a corner of the bar. ]
You would if you could though, right? Live a longer life.