The mental image springs to life unbidden: him all tucked up in bed like a Victorian wasteling with his leg all cased in plaster while Emet sits nearby, tenderly spoon feeding him... broth, or whatever. Jesus. He can't even stand to picture it. Christ. God.
Dirk presses a hand against his jaw; his brow furrows, the corners of his mouth twisting down against the scraped and weathered leather of his fingerless glove as he grimaces behind its partial shield.
"I know it's finesse over efficiency around here, but embarrassment is both slower and more painful than a brick."
no subject
The mental image springs to life unbidden: him all tucked up in bed like a Victorian wasteling with his leg all cased in plaster while Emet sits nearby, tenderly spoon feeding him... broth, or whatever. Jesus. He can't even stand to picture it. Christ. God.
Dirk presses a hand against his jaw; his brow furrows, the corners of his mouth twisting down against the scraped and weathered leather of his fingerless glove as he grimaces behind its partial shield.
"I know it's finesse over efficiency around here, but embarrassment is both slower and more painful than a brick."