Olixander could see plainly that his attempt at apology was not going over too well. The fury all over his angel’s face was a very clear indication. As the woman backed away from him more, biting words in his direction, Olixander sat fully upright on the bench and grinned at her. “I’m not worth two whole Galleons,” he replied, shaking his head. “That privilege is all yours.”
In his less than clear-minded state, the brunette found it hard to recognize the twisted look on the woman’s face as she stood before him. She was evidently displeased, but it wasn’t until she reached up to wipe… what was that, a tear? That he actually realized how terribly upset he’d made her. Frowning, the brunette stood. He wobbled in place for a moment and had to steady himself by catching a hand on the back of the bench. “Are you crying?” he demanded rather bluntly. It was a much harsher sounding inquiry than he’d meant, but surprise had gotten the best of him. It was a rhetorical question anyway. Of course she was.
Olixander wondered for a moment if he ought to feel badly. On the one hand, the sensitive part of him that was dulled by alcohol in social settings and extraordinarily heightened when he was on his own, told him yes. Quite frankly, it said, he should be ashamed of himself. On the other hand, the part of him that had been desensitized over the years to the plight of others told him, no. It was silly for the woman to cry over a stupid comment. She was silly, and not worth his pity.
The over-sensitive side won out.
Clearing his throat a little awkwardly, Olixander shoved his hands into his pockets. “Please don’t cry,” he mumbled. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do to make her stop, but he figured handing her two galleons in a gesture of goodwill probably wasn’t it.
In his less than clear-minded state, the brunette found it hard to recognize the twisted look on the woman’s face as she stood before him. She was evidently displeased, but it wasn’t until she reached up to wipe… what was that, a tear? That he actually realized how terribly upset he’d made her. Frowning, the brunette stood. He wobbled in place for a moment and had to steady himself by catching a hand on the back of the bench. “Are you crying?” he demanded rather bluntly. It was a much harsher sounding inquiry than he’d meant, but surprise had gotten the best of him. It was a rhetorical question anyway. Of course she was.
Olixander wondered for a moment if he ought to feel badly. On the one hand, the sensitive part of him that was dulled by alcohol in social settings and extraordinarily heightened when he was on his own, told him yes. Quite frankly, it said, he should be ashamed of himself. On the other hand, the part of him that had been desensitized over the years to the plight of others told him, no. It was silly for the woman to cry over a stupid comment. She was silly, and not worth his pity.
The over-sensitive side won out.
Clearing his throat a little awkwardly, Olixander shoved his hands into his pockets. “Please don’t cry,” he mumbled. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do to make her stop, but he figured handing her two galleons in a gesture of goodwill probably wasn’t it.