[For a moment something ignites in him, a hot bright flash of anger because really if Lucio was going to die and and hurl Julian into years of danger and guilt and suspicion, he could have at least had the decency to stay dead. Something dark crowds his face for one infinitesimal moment, as though he might have something to say about that, but in the next instant it melts away and leaves only exhaustion in its wake. Because he may now know that he didn't kill the Count, but there are still things he doesn't recall, and parts of himself that he's sure of. If anyone hurled him into danger, it was most likely himself.
Taking blame and hurt onto himself, it's what he does.
So he says nothing, and the drinks arrive, something that both smells and looks vile, which under the circumstances is exactly what he wants and just like Lucio before him he doesn't even bother to examine it, just downs half the tankard in three great glugs.]
Ugh, that's vile. I'll need at least three more.
[And his gaze slides back to the man at his side, the man who should be dead, opens his mouth to state again that he has never been here before...then closes it again, abruptly. It's not the first time he's experienced bouts of amnesia, after all.]
I really don't remember it.
[He supposes that's as much as he can say for sure.]
no subject
Taking blame and hurt onto himself, it's what he does.
So he says nothing, and the drinks arrive, something that both smells and looks vile, which under the circumstances is exactly what he wants and just like Lucio before him he doesn't even bother to examine it, just downs half the tankard in three great glugs.]
Ugh, that's vile. I'll need at least three more.
[And his gaze slides back to the man at his side, the man who should be dead, opens his mouth to state again that he has never been here before...then closes it again, abruptly. It's not the first time he's experienced bouts of amnesia, after all.]
I really don't remember it.
[He supposes that's as much as he can say for sure.]