Re: log: dylan & max
She didn't take offense when he called her on her shit. She laughed, sure and masculine, the kind of laugh that had never leaned it was supposed to be sweet and feminine. No, it was a genuine laugh, impressed slightly, and she took a sip of the beer as he explained why he felt her bullshit was, in fact, bullshit. "You don't believe life has meaning because we die, either, huh? Don't those two old adages go together?" But she shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know. I see my kid, and she doesn't realize the world is shit. She thinks everything out there is as good and safe as her sheltered life is, and I think we're supposed to applaud that. Great. She had a fantastic childhood." She took another sip. "I'm worried the world is going to tear her to shreds once she realizes that everything isn't good, that all men aren't as adoring as her father, that happy ends when life begins." She chuckled. "Alright, so maybe I'm a pessimist. I'd say realist, but you're going to say pessimist."
She looked down at those cigarettes and tapped the box against the bar again when he complimented her; compliments, those she wasn't great at. "Trying to get in my pants again?" Her grin said it was a joke, and it lacked any of the desperate sentiment from the last time they'd talked. It was a way to evade anything that made her uncomfortable, a defense mechanism. "You? You like what you're doing? If memory serves, you hated everything after you were compromised. Floundered, like a fish out of fucking water."