[He discards the words with a wave of a hand, this time less nervous, less anxious, less uncertain.]
[It's easy. It's so damn easy, and it makes sense that it would be. Cut his wrists and he bleeds gasoline; strike a match and he'll burn you down. Something to that effect. The nickname feels like the jab it's doubtless meant to be, but at least this time, he doesn't flinch.]
[He's good at this burning bridges thing. Even brought his own kerosene.]
[And it's easier to be angry than it is to try and quantify how badly he's screwed up.]
no subject
[It's easy. It's so damn easy, and it makes sense that it would be. Cut his wrists and he bleeds gasoline; strike a match and he'll burn you down. Something to that effect. The nickname feels like the jab it's doubtless meant to be, but at least this time, he doesn't flinch.]
[He's good at this burning bridges thing. Even brought his own kerosene.]
[And it's easier to be angry than it is to try and quantify how badly he's screwed up.]