e_delmar | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's nice on Shadow, quiet. Work's good, even if he ain't sleeping much.

But not sleeping's better'n what happens when he sleeps.

He don't need anything more'n what he's got there, but sometimes when he stares at the ceiling - or the night sky - he can't help but think about a thing or two left behind that maybe he don't want got rid of.

So it could be that it's late one night (on Shadow, anyway, who ever knows how times match up) Ennis sneaks into the bar, headed back towards his (their) room.

He's quick, and he's quiet, but could be you could catch him.

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Ain't much easier to answer, that. So he shrugs.

"Are you ill?" Mary asks, a little suspiciously.

She tilts her head, the better to inspect him.

"Wellard was ill but he would not admit it. It is better to say if you are."

"Ain't sick."

It's the one thing he knows he isn't, at least.

Mary does not look convinced.

"You look sick," she says, stubbornly.

"There are good doctors here - I mean there are not everywhere, but there are here."

When he opens his mouth again, his words a more harsh than he means for them to be.

"I said I ain't sick."

"Then you have not been taking care of yourself properly," Mary retorts immediately.

"Ain't nothing for you to worry about, miss."

He says it, but his voice ain't all that convincing.

Mary looks rather haughty.

"You cannot tell me what to worry about," she informs him, with great dignity. "It is not your decision."

Honestly. Grown-ups can be such control freaks.

"Fine."

He doesn't have the energy to fight, not less'n it's gonna be a real one.

Patiently, in case he'd missed the import of that: "And so I am worrying."

"Fine."

He looks at her, confused, unsure of what she wants him to say.

"And so," Mary concludes, still very patient, "you ought to take better care. You said it was nothing for me to worry about but it is something - and so you ought to."

"FINE."

He might as well get a tape recorder.

Mary looks a little exasperated.

"You keep saying that. But it is not."

"What'you know?"

"I know that your eyes look all bruised like Colin's did when everyone thought he was dying," Mary says, promptly.

"And you are being cross, and trying to make me cross - that is what I did when I was ill in India."

Ennis only shrugs.

"Well," Mary informs him, finally, "you shall not make me cross."

She sounds rather cross, as she says it.

"But you ought to listen to me; it is only silly to make yourself ill."

Ennis looks cross right back.

"Well, I've things to do."

What, try to escape? Never.

"If you fall over when you do them," Mary says, dourly, "you shall remember that I told you so."

"Sure will."

In fact, he prolly won't be able to think of much but.

"Fine, then," says Mary, stealing a phrase.

"FINE."

And somewhere deep down he realizes this is all utterly ridiculous, but he can't seem to care all that much about it.

Mary feels it is not ridiculous for her, seeing as she is ten.

"I already said that," she points out.

"Right.

well. Things."

Those things he mentioned. That he's obviously so anxious to do.

He shuffles his toe along the ground, and gives a kick.