[Kit might have missed the way his companion had been staring at him, but he didn't miss the book, neatly snatching it out of thin air with reflexes a cat would be proud of.
This was starting to become a habit, he realized. If he wanted to know something about the other boy, Vincent would dangle that information before him until he demonstrated signs of losing interest. Then, and only then, did he seem to give in and supply what Kit had been seeking all along. It was a ridiculous game, the sort a child might play and the sort he'd outgrown himself a long time ago.
Or at least...he'd thought he had outgrown it, but as he turned his attention back to the open notebook, it was with a sliver of genuine amusement even his voice emulated.]
I suppose you'll need to repeat yourself as many times as it takes for you to sound convincing.
[Which was beginning to look like a grand requirement, indeed.
Not long after Kit began reading, his amusement slipped away again. He was completely absorbed by the crude poetry scrawled upon the page, all sense of personal affliction replaced by an intense focus on what felt a lot like a lyrical autopsy. How strangely haunting and yet impossible to turn away from it was to be offered a glimpse into someone else's soul...
But worst of all was staring and finding things there that resonated with him.
Ultimately, it was that which made him return the notebook after a few more moments, and then rise once more to his feet. He may not have learned the other boy's name, but he'd learned everything else he'd set out to discover that night. He'd confirmed someone else had experienced visions like his own, and had established there was a force at work preventing them from speaking too freely about what they saw. He'd also determined how Vincent had come to know who he was, as well as achieved taking a look inside the other boy's notebook. It was enough. Maybe even more than enough when some things couldn't be unseen...]
...I can see why it would be easier to have someone else sing your lyrics.
[Not only would it be less revealing, but it would be considerably less painful a reminder if he weren't the one belting out each raw emotion himself.
Starting toward the stairwell doors, Kit waved his hand.]
I think I'm finally going to turn in. [And, with something of a wry smile cast back over his shoulder in Vincent's direction, he added...]Live. Until our next fight.
no subject
This was starting to become a habit, he realized. If he wanted to know something about the other boy, Vincent would dangle that information before him until he demonstrated signs of losing interest. Then, and only then, did he seem to give in and supply what Kit had been seeking all along. It was a ridiculous game, the sort a child might play and the sort he'd outgrown himself a long time ago.
Or at least...he'd thought he had outgrown it, but as he turned his attention back to the open notebook, it was with a sliver of genuine amusement even his voice emulated.]
I suppose you'll need to repeat yourself as many times as it takes for you to sound convincing.
[Which was beginning to look like a grand requirement, indeed.
Not long after Kit began reading, his amusement slipped away again. He was completely absorbed by the crude poetry scrawled upon the page, all sense of personal affliction replaced by an intense focus on what felt a lot like a lyrical autopsy. How strangely haunting and yet impossible to turn away from it was to be offered a glimpse into someone else's soul...
But worst of all was staring and finding things there that resonated with him.
Ultimately, it was that which made him return the notebook after a few more moments, and then rise once more to his feet. He may not have learned the other boy's name, but he'd learned everything else he'd set out to discover that night. He'd confirmed someone else had experienced visions like his own, and had established there was a force at work preventing them from speaking too freely about what they saw. He'd also determined how Vincent had come to know who he was, as well as achieved taking a look inside the other boy's notebook. It was enough. Maybe even more than enough when some things couldn't be unseen...]
...I can see why it would be easier to have someone else sing your lyrics.
[Not only would it be less revealing, but it would be considerably less painful a reminder if he weren't the one belting out each raw emotion himself.
Starting toward the stairwell doors, Kit waved his hand.]
I think I'm finally going to turn in. [And, with something of a wry smile cast back over his shoulder in Vincent's direction, he added...] Live. Until our next fight.