[ there's a faint twist to her lips when he makes that playful jab at her. she is not, of course, ignorant of the image she often makes to people; she's been called them all — a goodie two-shoes, an angel, a saint, a prude. the good girl with the good head on her shoulders who wouldn't ever dare do anything wrong. boring, plain. predictable. it doesn't really bother her. she figures if people are going to be thinking about her at all, she'd rather it be something forgettable like that.
now what she doesn't say (and somehow, miraculously, doesn't obviously show) is that that one swig of whiskey is already having its desired effect on her, leaving her feeling spun around and wading in turbulent waters as she struggles to just watch him take a gulp or two his own. if she winds up staring a little longer, a little more intently? it's to help her keep grounded and focused, of course. it has absolutely nothing to do with the slow suck of his lip for the remaining drops of that whiskey, leaving them pinker than they were before.
it's almost a relief when his question shifts things to something a little more somber. sobering, even. ]
Oh, you know. Just one of those nights.
[ marta doesn't get into the habit of feeling sorry for herself, at least not where people can see, but he asks her and of course she tells the truth, only the difference now is she feels like giving more than just a vague half-answer. ]
Some nights the ghosts are louder than I can ignore.
[ but unlike that evening of the bandit attack, marta isn't seeking consolation or comfort. it's a dead horse that deserves to be put to rest by now. if only the voices in her mind will let it. so the answer to his question? yes, that was exactly what she was trying to do. ]
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now what she doesn't say (and somehow, miraculously, doesn't obviously show) is that that one swig of whiskey is already having its desired effect on her, leaving her feeling spun around and wading in turbulent waters as she struggles to just watch him take a gulp or two his own. if she winds up staring a little longer, a little more intently? it's to help her keep grounded and focused, of course. it has absolutely nothing to do with the slow suck of his lip for the remaining drops of that whiskey, leaving them pinker than they were before.
it's almost a relief when his question shifts things to something a little more somber. sobering, even. ]
Oh, you know. Just one of those nights.
[ marta doesn't get into the habit of feeling sorry for herself, at least not where people can see, but he asks her and of course she tells the truth, only the difference now is she feels like giving more than just a vague half-answer. ]
Some nights the ghosts are louder than I can ignore.
[ but unlike that evening of the bandit attack, marta isn't seeking consolation or comfort. it's a dead horse that deserves to be put to rest by now. if only the voices in her mind will let it. so the answer to his question? yes, that was exactly what she was trying to do. ]