The Balladeer quickly turns to go as well, once released.
"You didn't have to talk to him that long," Beth grumbles in his ear. Her grip is still tight, only barely loosening as the sound of Johnny (the sound of the house) dies behind them. "He isn't one of ours. We're not responsible for him, we don't need to listen."
"No. I guess not. But I think he needed it." He shifts uneasily, crossing and uncrossing his arms and vaguely wishing for the familiar weight of his guitar. That story shouldn't be told - or if it must, it's certainly not for him. Give him his common killers any day. Ordinarily he wouldn't admit to being bothered by such a short simple conversation, but it's only Beth, so he confesses: "I think I might have a rough few nights."
The parrot chirps disconsolately, pressing her little feathered head into his cheek. "Just don't think about it. That's been working okay." It had better continue working, anyway. Where he's sleeping now, people might notice.
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"You didn't have to talk to him that long," Beth grumbles in his ear. Her grip is still tight, only barely loosening as the sound of Johnny (the sound of the house) dies behind them. "He isn't one of ours. We're not responsible for him, we don't need to listen."
"No. I guess not. But I think he needed it." He shifts uneasily, crossing and uncrossing his arms and vaguely wishing for the familiar weight of his guitar. That story shouldn't be told - or if it must, it's certainly not for him. Give him his common killers any day. Ordinarily he wouldn't admit to being bothered by such a short simple conversation, but it's only Beth, so he confesses: "I think I might have a rough few nights."
The parrot chirps disconsolately, pressing her little feathered head into his cheek. "Just don't think about it. That's been working okay." It had better continue working, anyway. Where he's sleeping now, people might notice.