"I know," Warsman replies simply, and he punctuates his response with a soft, metallic sigh. The fact that he doesn't have to think all that far back to sync his thoughts to Eponine's is both frightening and a comfort; he doesn't want to be Nikolai Volkoff anymore, it's true, but he also can't let himself forget his roots. Not while there are so many people still living that life.
He's surprised out of his thoughts, though, by the sudden touch of Eponine's hand- for a moment he starts away on instinct, as if expecting her to twist his arm back into a lock, but then he catches himself and tries to relax. He's not at all used to any sort of physical contact outside of the ring, and he finds himself incredibly self-conscious. She feels, he realises, very small next to him. Very small and very fragile, like a doll.
It gives him the strange feeling of being wholly in charge, and it's feeling enough to prompt a sad little laugh out of him. "Maybe we're both better than we think we are, even if no one else seems to think so." Funny because it's true, or sad because even being the one to suggest it won't make him believe it? Regardless, he can't blame Eponine when she pulls away a little.
"I can't believe you," he says, his voice still edged with a sort of sad humour, "because I know I wouldn't have taken them back when I was in your position. Though I usually stole my shoes from other people rather than stores." He shakes his head at the memory, as if to scatter it. "... I'd offer you my boots, if I thought for one moment they'd even begin to fit you."
no subject
He's surprised out of his thoughts, though, by the sudden touch of Eponine's hand- for a moment he starts away on instinct, as if expecting her to twist his arm back into a lock, but then he catches himself and tries to relax. He's not at all used to any sort of physical contact outside of the ring, and he finds himself incredibly self-conscious. She feels, he realises, very small next to him. Very small and very fragile, like a doll.
It gives him the strange feeling of being wholly in charge, and it's feeling enough to prompt a sad little laugh out of him. "Maybe we're both better than we think we are, even if no one else seems to think so." Funny because it's true, or sad because even being the one to suggest it won't make him believe it? Regardless, he can't blame Eponine when she pulls away a little.
"I can't believe you," he says, his voice still edged with a sort of sad humour, "because I know I wouldn't have taken them back when I was in your position. Though I usually stole my shoes from other people rather than stores." He shakes his head at the memory, as if to scatter it. "... I'd offer you my boots, if I thought for one moment they'd even begin to fit you."