[Sweet god, in a few words he goes from needing a cigarette to needing some booze. Not even a tick of irritation or any sort of unrest reaches his face, though. Not really irritation at Narvin, just this sense he can't really manage to be sad about something that he very much should be sad about. It just turns into something else in his head, another kind of unhappiness, a sense of regret that he never got to be the father that he feels like he should have been.]
No.
We give 'em up when we become agents.
[Fuck it. He gets out his pack of cigarettes to pack against his hand.]
no subject
No.
We give 'em up when we become agents.
[Fuck it. He gets out his pack of cigarettes to pack against his hand.]