[ oh... goddamnit. fine. at least it'll be from his mouth and not people who want to martyr him. not the opa scum that's on board now. he gestures to the end of her bed like he's asking if he can sit there, but then he goes ahead and does it anyway. he drops to the bedspread like he's one of those wooden puppets, collapsing into a foldable shape. he sets his hat down on the bed next and runs a hand back through his growing, messy hair. ]
no subject
Alright. Do your worst, Christiana Amanpour.