[ With a heavy sigh as though they're speaking of water being wet, ] You'll admit that it's me.
[ It won't be. Saints, it won't be. Unless Wesley truly is a poor artist, Zoya will win this one by losing.
But she continues being haughty. It's fun playing up her arrogance with someone who won't bristle at it and either start quivering in their insecurity or grow petulantly angry. ]
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[ It won't be. Saints, it won't be. Unless Wesley truly is a poor artist, Zoya will win this one by losing.
But she continues being haughty. It's fun playing up her arrogance with someone who won't bristle at it and either start quivering in their insecurity or grow petulantly angry. ]
I can't wait to claim my prize from you.
no subject
[He says, before taking another sip and slumping his shoulders. Then he offers her the bottle, gently tipping it her way.]