"Hey," John cooed back to his wife.
(It's Christmas, isn't it?)
Ye)
"Shouldn't we get dressed? It's Christmas after all," she said softly.
"Yeah," John breathed. "I should.."
"You're a witch!" He exclaimed dramatically.
(( FUN FACT TIME back in the good ole days of the salem witch trials, people used moles/freckles/scars/p much any skin marking as proof a woman was lovemaking the devil, and thus was a witch )
(Damn)
George snorted loudly. “What, you think me a woman who sleeps with the—“ The blood drained from his face. “Oh.”
Bailey blinked. George's realization didn't register in Bailey's head.
“Never mind,” he said quickly, realizing that the insinuation had been unintentional.
"No, what?" Bailey pressed.
“Nothing. I misinterpreted— Nevermind. Forget it.” George stared straight (ha) down at his plate.
His nose twitched. "I don't like it when people do that."
“I’m sorry.” George still refused to look up.
He became quiet now, but just looked at George. Not really sure.. What to say.
George cleared his throat loudly. “If you’re the devil, then who is Hamilton?”
He laughed very sparsely. "Is there anything worse than Lucifer?"
“Probably somewhere…” he muttered, trying to be humorous.
Bailey touched George's arm briefly. "You're a good cook." He made an effort to lighten the air.
The touch, if anything, only served to worsen George’s mental situation. When he looked up at Bailey… he looked afraid, if only for a second.
"You're acting abnormal," Bailey spoke with concern.
“I am abnormal, Bailey,” he whispered, before a mask of content set over his expression. “Come on, I made you a gift.”
He said nothing, feeling a confusing mixture of emotion. Why was he acting so.. Weird?
“Come,” he repeated with unnervingly convincing cheerfulness. He crossed the room to the mantel, where a small package sat. “Merry Christmas.”
Bailey followed stiffly. He complied readily, though the confines of his room were starting to be quite appealing.
George presented the gift to Bailey, ignoring the nausea spreading through his whole.
He didn't feel right accepting this. But, he opened it anyways, as not to offend George. Even so, his silence betrayed his discomfort.
Inside was a sparrow, whittled out of a block of dark, smooth wood.
Bailey picked it up delicately, "Oh, this is… Neat," he breathed. He hated how insincere he sounded– it was unintentional. He just wasn't one to get very excited.
George’s happy expression crumbled. Had he overstepped?
"Thank you." Bailey murmured.
He turned away. “I know, it’s not very good.. I couldn’t afford to buy anything.”
"It's fine, George. You've done enough for me anywho," he spoke. "I owe you my life, anyways."
George looked up again, brows drawing together. “You… do?”
".. There was nothing to stop me from taking my life. You brought me away from that. The edge."
A soft “Oh….” parted his lips.
Bailey shifted his jaw, "So, thank you,"
