[his teasing gets nothing in reply but an ill-tempered 'tsk'. the prospect of having to repeat the same words over and over simply because he wasn't taken seriously wasn't something that he relished, but got the sense that it may indeed be a reality if he continued to hang around Kit. what a pain in the ass.
Vincent may have stared his companion down during his emotional crisis, but he makes no attempts to do the same as the other teen looks through the notebook. he watches the dim glow of the vending machine with vague interest, never stealing so much as a peripheral glance downwards. what he thought of his lyrics was of no concern to him.
it's impossible to interpret Kit's expression as he stands up to return the notebook, but he likes to imagine that the song has struck a chord, even half-finished. it was blistering even for himself as he wrote down what was burning in his mind - he can't imagine not being moved by it.
the strange satisfaction at knowing someone else had shared those feelings which coursed through his veins so discourteously prompts a soft sound of amusement as he checks to ensure nothing's fallen out before tucking it back into his jacket.]
It's all about the sound. I wouldn't make the same impression.
[not that Kit had needed even music to be shaken up, although he keeps that bit to himself.
there's a part of him that feels it would be more appropriate to remain where he was, slinking back into the sleeping quarters only once he's certain that everyone else must be asleep. it would be fitting for the prideful spite which had brought him there in the first place. instead he finds his foot pushing off from the wall, propelling himself at a leisurely pace towards the lobby doors and the other boy.]
Sounds like advice you should be taking yourself. At the rate you're going you'll just fall over the railing on your own.
[that was his excuse, anyway. the fight. but Vincent can't help but wonder, as he shoots his companion a sardonic look, if this wasn't the stirrings of genuine concern.
no subject
Vincent may have stared his companion down during his emotional crisis, but he makes no attempts to do the same as the other teen looks through the notebook. he watches the dim glow of the vending machine with vague interest, never stealing so much as a peripheral glance downwards. what he thought of his lyrics was of no concern to him.
it's impossible to interpret Kit's expression as he stands up to return the notebook, but he likes to imagine that the song has struck a chord, even half-finished. it was blistering even for himself as he wrote down what was burning in his mind - he can't imagine not being moved by it.
the strange satisfaction at knowing someone else had shared those feelings which coursed through his veins so discourteously prompts a soft sound of amusement as he checks to ensure nothing's fallen out before tucking it back into his jacket.]
It's all about the sound. I wouldn't make the same impression.
[not that Kit had needed even music to be shaken up, although he keeps that bit to himself.
there's a part of him that feels it would be more appropriate to remain where he was, slinking back into the sleeping quarters only once he's certain that everyone else must be asleep. it would be fitting for the prideful spite which had brought him there in the first place. instead he finds his foot pushing off from the wall, propelling himself at a leisurely pace towards the lobby doors and the other boy.]
Sounds like advice you should be taking yourself. At the rate you're going you'll just fall over the railing on your own.
[that was his excuse, anyway. the fight. but Vincent can't help but wonder, as he shoots his companion a sardonic look, if this wasn't the stirrings of genuine concern.
it really was troubling.]