[She says, and it's half-true-- she'd never precisely been told to knock before entering a space because generally it was expected that she wouldn't be wanted within it. It'd be a lie, though, to suggest she was quite so graceless as to not know better at all-- the heady smell of cooking meat and the prospect of not being alone in the creepy-ass woods anymore had, perhaps, got the better of her. She does have the good grace to sound sheepish though, as she tacks on a quick--]
Sorry.
[It's odd, to find that the chill tone of mild disappointment in his voice slides uncomfortably between her ribs like a sharpened blade. She's fairly sure that disappointment ought to be her middle name, that she's solidly immune to it. To discover that she feels the cut of it is something of a surprise. She doesn't stop to examine this though, and instead sets about detaching her two-hander from her back, leaning it against the wall by the entrance with a careful reverence that sits at odds with the big, bold bluster of her. Really, she loves this thing so much she could fucking marry it.]
Can I come in, then?
[She asks, quite belatedly, given that she's definitely already in.]
no subject
[She says, and it's half-true-- she'd never precisely been told to knock before entering a space because generally it was expected that she wouldn't be wanted within it. It'd be a lie, though, to suggest she was quite so graceless as to not know better at all-- the heady smell of cooking meat and the prospect of not being alone in the creepy-ass woods anymore had, perhaps, got the better of her. She does have the good grace to sound sheepish though, as she tacks on a quick--]
Sorry.
[It's odd, to find that the chill tone of mild disappointment in his voice slides uncomfortably between her ribs like a sharpened blade. She's fairly sure that disappointment ought to be her middle name, that she's solidly immune to it. To discover that she feels the cut of it is something of a surprise. She doesn't stop to examine this though, and instead sets about detaching her two-hander from her back, leaning it against the wall by the entrance with a careful reverence that sits at odds with the big, bold bluster of her. Really, she loves this thing so much she could fucking marry it.]
Can I come in, then?
[She asks, quite belatedly, given that she's definitely already in.]