i wanna tell you a story. ain't got no characters in it but me. i wanna sing you a sad song. most of it i don't expect you to believe. it starts off just the whiskey and wine, miles of travel and some real good times. but it ends in a dark corridor, and there ain't no windows and there ain't no doors.
[This is usually the point where his hands would drop back to his sides, but somehow, that strikes him as a bad idea. Maybe it's because he thinks Severa might start hitting the glass again if he moves away, maybe he just wants the contact to linger because it reaffirms her continued existence.]
It ain't gonna do any good. [Grim resignation. His grip loosens, but remains.] I bet even if ya were Gregor, you couldn't make a dent.
[No, that would be too easy. You don't try to force people to make sadistic choices without first removing the possibility of escape through other means.]
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It ain't gonna do any good. [Grim resignation. His grip loosens, but remains.] I bet even if ya were Gregor, you couldn't make a dent.
[No, that would be too easy. You don't try to force people to make sadistic choices without first removing the possibility of escape through other means.]