@KalamariCakes
"The cold isn't bad," he mumbled back, wiping his running nose.
"The cold isn't bad," he mumbled back, wiping his running nose.
Pierre sighed, carefully taking a seat beside her. “You sure?”
The man exhaled through his cold-bitten nose. "What're you here for, Pierre?"
“I’m here,” he started, “to say that I’m sorry. And that General Daniels is being an ass.”
His eyebrows hooded over his nose and blue eyes. Hands tightly clasped, he ran his thumbs in circles aroumd the other, and said nothing. How was he supppsed to cope with sympathy when he hasn't had it before?
Pierre looked away for a moment, unsure how to interpret the silence. “As much as people deny it, Commander, the army nee
Oh oof, cut you off )
"Jane, please–" John tried to plead her to calm down.
She looked back at him, her eyes wide. "Sorry," she whispered.
"Jane, what is it?" Henry (I think that was his name…?) folded his paper up and looked at the couple.
"Sir," André brushed his hands down his coat. "I came to talk with you," he smiled amicably.
Henry frowned slightly. "Is something wrong?"
Jane shifted.
Oh oof, cut you off )
sorry, my wifi's wacky rn…….. I'm not entirely sure what happened)
Pierre looked away for a moment, unsure how to interpret the silence. “As much as people deny it, Commander, the army needs you. Who else to keep us all on our toes?"
André smiled reassuringly. "Not at all, sir. Jane, can we have a moment?"
Bailey's lips pursed. "All of it's a product of my uncontrollable rage." He muttered.
Pierre opened his hands and spread his fingers. "And there's probably a reason for that rage. I don't blame you. Either way, the Patriots wouldn't be the same without you, Commander."
"Is that all I'm good for?" He hissed through his teeth. "What's it to the men? I'm replaceable. I'm no Van Steuben."
"With all due respect, everyone's replaceable to an extent," he reasoned calmly.
Bailey rubbed his hands together. He took a moment to process Pierre's words. "I can't tell if you're being genuine, or if you're just trying to find a way to get out of drills," he sighed. Though his words remained harsh, there was a partial dent in the hardness of his tone.
Pierre chuckled dryly. "Ouch. I guess I deserved that though. But yes, I am being genuine." There was something beneath his tone, an almost.. resolve, determination. As if he'd given this talk before and it hadn't gone well. As if he was not letting that happen again.
Bailey wiped his face with his hand when his lip started to shake. "I'm going to resign."
A flicker of hesitation passed through his expression, one which he quickly extinguished. "For what reason?"
"I'd like to just disappear quietly," he spoke with intended air of anger, like the world had done him grievance–and maybe his world had done such, to push the man as far as suicide.
Besides, his role in the militia was all the man had left, according to Pierre's knowledge.
He nodded. "Yeah. I– In that case, I wish you a good rest of your life."
He pressed the pads of his thumbs against his eyes, like Edonine had done last night.
( oh boy
(oh boy indeed)
He felt suddenly trapped, unsure whether he should stay or go.
He pulled his hands through his hair. "I've…" He started.
He pulled his hands through his hair. "I've…" He started.
Pierre stilled. “You?”
He groaned quietly. "Nothing." The Commander stood up, let his hands fall to his sides. "Don't be shocked if I don't show up for duty."
Pierre nodded silently, rising as well.
Bailey took a turn into his tent. Francis and the two men were watching from afar, and frowning.
The following keyboard controls are supported across Notebook.ai. All keyboard controls are disabled when editing a document or notebook page.