[ eggsy drops himself in the chair opposite nightingale, bringing two pints with him. one corner of his mouth tugs into a half-smile, more apologetic than pleased. since his nap in stasis, eggsy has been out of it — disoriented by the bridged gap in time, knocked off his rhythm by losses at home and on the station, out of touch in an attempt to process his feelings on everything.
it doesn't make his absence less shitty. ]
If that bloke scores, [ he tips his head in the direction of the match. ] then you've got to forgive me for disappearing.
[ playing into the betting culture and asking for forgiveness in a roundabout way? oh, absolutely. ]
cantina | gently wildcards
it doesn't make his absence less shitty. ]
If that bloke scores, [ he tips his head in the direction of the match. ] then you've got to forgive me for disappearing.
[ playing into the betting culture and asking for forgiveness in a roundabout way? oh, absolutely. ]