Fair.
Ford frowned at the space on the carpet where he had been sitting, weighing the merits of resuming his position there and picking some other near-distant point in the future to try again. He couldn't blame her; if he were in her shoes, he wouldn't want to talk to him, either. He had little faith that delaying would ease anything, though — just as he expected he would never have figured out what to say, he expected she would never be ready to listen to him. It still had to happen, and sooner rather than later. The house was going to be waking up beneath them and people were going to start going about their daily routines, and Ford was going to have to have something to say to them. He could pretend to be ill to get out of work, but it would seem odd to say Jemima was, too. And probably she didn't care; had not circled back around to thinking about how things would look or what people would think, but eventually she would. She had said last night: this was her house, too. Her life. Her family, technically speaking... though perhaps not for much longer, depending on what she had decided.
He sighed and shifted his weight from foot to foot. He had decided not to sit down again, but he didn't know what to say to convince her to let him in.
"Jemima," he said after a very long moment of silence; his voice was more tired than anything else. "We really do have to talk."
Ford frowned at the space on the carpet where he had been sitting, weighing the merits of resuming his position there and picking some other near-distant point in the future to try again. He couldn't blame her; if he were in her shoes, he wouldn't want to talk to him, either. He had little faith that delaying would ease anything, though — just as he expected he would never have figured out what to say, he expected she would never be ready to listen to him. It still had to happen, and sooner rather than later. The house was going to be waking up beneath them and people were going to start going about their daily routines, and Ford was going to have to have something to say to them. He could pretend to be ill to get out of work, but it would seem odd to say Jemima was, too. And probably she didn't care; had not circled back around to thinking about how things would look or what people would think, but eventually she would. She had said last night: this was her house, too. Her life. Her family, technically speaking... though perhaps not for much longer, depending on what she had decided.
He sighed and shifted his weight from foot to foot. He had decided not to sit down again, but he didn't know what to say to convince her to let him in.
"Jemima," he said after a very long moment of silence; his voice was more tired than anything else. "We really do have to talk."
Set by Lady!