merri & wolfe
Wolfe glanced to the side, and gave the younger man a long, considering look. It would have been easy to brush this topic aside, like Merri had tried to: let it drift back under the distraction of the tournament, buried under the chatter of the crowd and hawking of the snack salesman, laid to rest and not to be examined again.
But the past three years had chipped away at Wolfe and left him more thoughtful, more equipped to conversations such as these. “This doesn’t seem the right place to discuss it,” he said, “but I’d like to go over that in more detail at some point. You can talk it through, just get your feelings straight and such.”
And then he considered Merri’s question. Yes, too many. “Yes, and more to spare. We should get coffee or something, one of these days. We can catch up properly, I can share my ostensibly thrilling tales, and you can tell me about being stuck. And we can talk without—”
A deafening roar rose up around them as an announcer minced into the centre of the ring to announce the challengers, and it looked like the action was finally starting. The noise drowned out their conversation for a good few seconds, both men exchanging sheepish looks, while Wolfe pointed to the air around them as if saying See?
Once it subsided: “—talk without this interfering.”