Ahh, so that's it. Rust stands and sucks on his cigarette and watches calmly as Will spills it all out. Well, the way Rust sees it, he's watching Will shackle himself to the likeness of another human being. He has to hold his knee-jerk irritation back, and is willing to, given how on-edge the other man has been from get-go.
"Well, if that's how you want it t' be." Rust sits back down on the bed, laying his cigarettes and lighter a few inches beside his hip, and takes his glass back. "'Cause," he begins, a soft groan of a word that is isolated by the pause Rust takes to freshen up with another mouthful of whiskey. He stares at Will with unwavering eyes. "I'm sure that's how this shitheel wants you t' see it. If you're content with letting him win and eat you alive, well then..." Rust extends his arms in two sweeping motions, mirroring each other's movements to emphasize his next three words: "By all means."
There's another level of tough love Rust could descend to, but that would do neither of them any good. Once elbows return to their perches on his thighs, Rust's eyes droop and sink down to skate around the edge of his glass, a serene sense of thoughtfulness washing away any malice that could have been detected in his voice. "So what if you're both Marked...you ain't marked with him 'cause you're some psychopath. Shit, everyone's got potential to be a killer...you know it. It ain't our nature that makes us become people like that -- it's our life experiences, and how we handle 'em."
Rust seems to fight off a grimace at something that ghosts across his mind. He washes the taste down with what's left in his glass. "I killed people. I snapped and that fire of rage engulfed me and I had my justifications...but I just happened to do it under other, more forgiving conditions. Like, arranging the right lottery numbers. I was just on the job."
Not that he got away with not being responsible for that. The glass clanks onto the table, and Rust bends his elbow to bring his cigarette within orbiting distance of his mouth. "So, that ain't it, unless you're 'bout to tell me that you're also uncannily partial to expensive wine an' foie gras. I doubt it." No offense, Will.
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"Well, if that's how you want it t' be." Rust sits back down on the bed, laying his cigarettes and lighter a few inches beside his hip, and takes his glass back. "'Cause," he begins, a soft groan of a word that is isolated by the pause Rust takes to freshen up with another mouthful of whiskey. He stares at Will with unwavering eyes. "I'm sure that's how this shitheel wants you t' see it. If you're content with letting him win and eat you alive, well then..." Rust extends his arms in two sweeping motions, mirroring each other's movements to emphasize his next three words: "By all means."
There's another level of tough love Rust could descend to, but that would do neither of them any good. Once elbows return to their perches on his thighs, Rust's eyes droop and sink down to skate around the edge of his glass, a serene sense of thoughtfulness washing away any malice that could have been detected in his voice. "So what if you're both Marked...you ain't marked with him 'cause you're some psychopath. Shit, everyone's got potential to be a killer...you know it. It ain't our nature that makes us become people like that -- it's our life experiences, and how we handle 'em."
Rust seems to fight off a grimace at something that ghosts across his mind. He washes the taste down with what's left in his glass. "I killed people. I snapped and that fire of rage engulfed me and I had my justifications...but I just happened to do it under other, more forgiving conditions. Like, arranging the right lottery numbers. I was just on the job."
Not that he got away with not being responsible for that. The glass clanks onto the table, and Rust bends his elbow to bring his cigarette within orbiting distance of his mouth. "So, that ain't it, unless you're 'bout to tell me that you're also uncannily partial to expensive wine an' foie gras. I doubt it." No offense, Will.
"So...what else is it?"