[Lucy. Mitchell looks away, quickly, his face contorting as he shoves his fingers through his hair, rakes it back away from his face and stands, to pace away from the little table. As if his face wasn't already contorted at blood drunk--but all of that, all of it is so tied up with Lucy Jaggert, with the keen stab of anger and betrayal. The explosion at the funeral parlor, Ivan's weight slamming into him mere seconds before. Saving his fucking life. And it had all made such sense at the time. They had to pay. They had to answer for what they had done, the hole that they had ripped in the world. Bodies for bodies; eye for bloody eye.
But Annie--]
But you'd changed your mind.
[He doesn't answer any of the rest of it. Just a few steps off, and he turns to look at her, searching.]
Before he did it. You'd changed your mind, you were going to stay.
no subject
But Annie--]
But you'd changed your mind.
[He doesn't answer any of the rest of it. Just a few steps off, and he turns to look at her, searching.]
Before he did it. You'd changed your mind, you were going to stay.