[It takes him a while to hear everything she has to say, and longer still to parse her words. He stares straight ahead. Is that sincerity he hears?
A part of him rankles at the thought. It can't be.
All the same, there's a part of him that holds him back from spitting out a disagreement in a drunken fit. Strange, that his lowered inhibition would stop him from voicing his doubts. He stands there, expression dubious, for what feels like an eternity before tearing himself away from the scene to wobble elsewhere.
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There's a lengthy stretch of silence before he answers.]
I don't want help.
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[ Is it fine?? ]
I won't help you if you don't need it.
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[ To that, Dorothy stares at him. That... can't be right. No one's ever helped him just because it was the right thing to do?
Maybe that's just drunken rambling, but in her own haze, she can't help but find that... troubling? Is she irritated? She can't quite tell. ]
I won't charge you. You can charge me if I lie about that. [ Get more money out of it, sure. It's fine.
She knows what it's like to have to help yourself because no one else will, but that doesn't make it okay. ]
If you ask me for help, I'll help you.
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A part of him rankles at the thought. It can't be.
All the same, there's a part of him that holds him back from spitting out a disagreement in a drunken fit. Strange, that his lowered inhibition would stop him from voicing his doubts. He stands there, expression dubious, for what feels like an eternity before tearing himself away from the scene to wobble elsewhere.
The day he asks for help . . . won't be today.]