[she half-mumbles, tucking a loose curl behind one ear. These days she doesn't sleep well, eats little, and why should she? She doesn't need it and she has no appetite, maintaining the status quo for the comfort of others is the best she can do - keeping up appearances would be exhausting if she actually felt tired.
Dean is unaccustomed to accepting thanks in spite of the work he does on a regular basis; Evelyn wonders how much self-worth his father tried to drum out of him in foisting the responsibility of parenting on his eldest son.]
[ dean doesn't really know how to take that, how to react-- so he just sort of stares at her. which might be uncharacteristic of him, when he fails to throw some quip at her or even offer a smug smile. it goes on for a long moment, then he finally exhales a breath he hadn't realized he was holding in the first place. ]
...Even if someone else had found you, you can bet your pretty butt I would've busted down their door to check in on you.
[ and a smile! because it's true. if someone had come onto the network, pale-faced and mumbling the story of what had happened to her, dean wouldn't have been able to stay away. ]
Evelyn's faith in Dean's unwavering desire to help those he cares for is firmly founded - were she the gambling sort, she would bet a good deal of money on that. It is a strangely easy declaration to take at face value, knowing that Dean has never lied to her. Twice now in a single conversation Evelyn has caught him at a loss for words and the novelty of that alone is unusual.
She knows. Privately, she thinks she's known for a long time, at least since he called her without prompting to warn her against trusting any word that slithered out of Hannibal's mouth.]
I still have your shirt, by the by, [she informs him conversationally, slipping into an easier subject to digest.] You're not getting it back.
[ in all honesty, dean had entirely forgotten about the shirt. in the hassle and fright of her return on that day, he had simply yanked the best shirt he could find for the situation and gone with it. the rest was almost a blur of worrying about her.
now though, he smirks, leaning back a little as he raises a brow-- all while glad for the change of subject. ]
You're holding it hostage? You know, that was one of my favorites.
[ ah well. there are worse people to lose good shirts to. ]
[she simpers, dropping calculated sympathy into her whisky as easily as one might a piece of ice.]
I think you'll recover from the loss in good time. It's very comfortable.
[The little tag in it says "100% Cotton" but it's unlike any cotton Evelyn has ever come into contact with in her lifetime. The future is a place rife with odd fabrics and even odder collars and shirtsleeves, it seems.]
I'm still not entirely sure why someone would build a zeppelin out of lead, but...
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no subject
[she half-mumbles, tucking a loose curl behind one ear. These days she doesn't sleep well, eats little, and why should she? She doesn't need it and she has no appetite, maintaining the status quo for the comfort of others is the best she can do - keeping up appearances would be exhausting if she actually felt tired.
Dean is unaccustomed to accepting thanks in spite of the work he does on a regular basis; Evelyn wonders how much self-worth his father tried to drum out of him in foisting the responsibility of parenting on his eldest son.]
For what it's worth, I'm glad it was you.
no subject
...Even if someone else had found you, you can bet your pretty butt I would've busted down their door to check in on you.
[ and a smile! because it's true. if someone had come onto the network, pale-faced and mumbling the story of what had happened to her, dean wouldn't have been able to stay away. ]
no subject
[He's delightfully predictable that way.
Evelyn's faith in Dean's unwavering desire to help those he cares for is firmly founded - were she the gambling sort, she would bet a good deal of money on that. It is a strangely easy declaration to take at face value, knowing that Dean has never lied to her. Twice now in a single conversation Evelyn has caught him at a loss for words and the novelty of that alone is unusual.
She knows. Privately, she thinks she's known for a long time, at least since he called her without prompting to warn her against trusting any word that slithered out of Hannibal's mouth.]
I still have your shirt, by the by, [she informs him conversationally, slipping into an easier subject to digest.] You're not getting it back.
no subject
now though, he smirks, leaning back a little as he raises a brow-- all while glad for the change of subject. ]
You're holding it hostage? You know, that was one of my favorites.
[ ah well. there are worse people to lose good shirts to. ]
no subject
[she simpers, dropping calculated sympathy into her whisky as easily as one might a piece of ice.]
I think you'll recover from the loss in good time. It's very comfortable.
[The little tag in it says "100% Cotton" but it's unlike any cotton Evelyn has ever come into contact with in her lifetime. The future is a place rife with odd fabrics and even odder collars and shirtsleeves, it seems.]
I'm still not entirely sure why someone would build a zeppelin out of lead, but...