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R. A. B. has a precioussss; (writtenblack) wrote in anon_rpg,

Their hands almost touch. Just an inch to the side, and it would be enough. Regulus carefully avoids it, and pretends it is because he is inspecting the case for damage, as if her touch may have contaminated it.

But he is a gentleman; he lights the fag for her.

He is surprised. But on the outside, he raises a single brow, a tad sardonically, as if he expects her to take a single drag and choke on it, chokechokechoke until she throws up a lung right there on the floor, and maybe somehow her organs are tangled and it rips out her beating heart too -- splat; how...unsanitary-- and maybe then, maybe then she will be able to understand something, anything about him.

His grey eyes fix on the tip of that fag, as if it held answers. And for a moment, his mind erases the here and now, and shifts to another moment that-is-yet-to-pass, to words he had mentally spoken to Sirius but never really uttered.


'What is it that you don't understand? You know exactly why I did it. Because he had chosen me. Because I was one of His Chosen. You don't know what it is like to be chosen. You don't understand. You were chosen. And yet you chose to let go!' YouFUCKERyoubloodyGITyoustuckmeinhereandIloveyouandIhateyouanditisYOURFAULT.


He's sure he would speak those words, one day, throw them into his face and rub them in, just as he threw that One Letter into the Dark Lord's face. Why he is thinking of a bloke, when he's with a pretty girl, Regulus does not know.

Hestia is not a girl; Hestia is a sparrow, named Jones.

He would never admit to being attached to that sparrow, in a way. You see, you become attached even to dogs, if they stick around long enough. Regulus repeats that in his mind, and it lingers over the mantra of it'snotmyfaultif--- He could adapt the above explanation and serve it to her, as well. But he doesn't. Instead, he...

"I didn't know you smoked." He offers. What he means is how much did you change? and how can I not know? I thought I could read everything you, you used to be simple to read.

He lights his own, and he takes a long hit from it. Slowly, very slowly. Keeps it in for a moment. Then exhales. Because Regulus is good at avoiding, and he doesn't want to talk about it much. But it's better than talking about himself. "Why is life good, Jones?"

Why is /your/ life good?