[In this universe, Timothy Wright, you get your shit together. Not purely because you have a reserve of energy that doesn’t exist in reality, but because you were lucky enough to catch someone a split second before they made the fatal decision to take two steps forward and go plummeting off the edge.]
[In this universe, a child ends up being your responsibility instead of the mere appearance of one.]
Did she? [He sets a worn looking banjo atop an amp parked near the door and leans against the wall, his expression simultaneously dry and undeniably fond in a way that has far too often undermined what should be straightforwardly deadpan delivery.] And was there anything in the voicemail greeting that may have given her a small heart attack?
Jesus fucking Christ slaughter me why don’t you
[In this universe, a child ends up being your responsibility instead of the mere appearance of one.]
Did she? [He sets a worn looking banjo atop an amp parked near the door and leans against the wall, his expression simultaneously dry and undeniably fond in a way that has far too often undermined what should be straightforwardly deadpan delivery.] And was there anything in the voicemail greeting that may have given her a small heart attack?