It is with perhaps a bit more force and a slightly more severe look than Wrench may have expected that he sharply answers:
I DIDN'T DO A FUCKING THING TO HER.
He is not his brother; probably best to leave it at that. Wrench didn't necessarily imply anything untoward, but he takes it that way all the same and resents even the hint of association. He won't linger on it, though — instead, he offers an abridged version of the truth.
SHE THOUGHT SHE COULD DO A BETTER JOB PROTECTING A GIRL I WAS LOOKING AFTER. I DISAGREED.
Another truth he won't correct: falling off that cliff is not the last thing he remembers. The last he recalls was lying broken at the bottom of the hill, bleeding, in pain, a bone in his leg jutting out from his trousers. Arya Stark, the cold little bitch, squatting in the distance and watching him bleed.
Begging her to kill him. To end it. Ready for death.
no subject
He is not his brother; probably best to leave it at that. Wrench didn't necessarily imply anything untoward, but he takes it that way all the same and resents even the hint of association. He won't linger on it, though — instead, he offers an abridged version of the truth.
Another truth he won't correct: falling off that cliff is not the last thing he remembers. The last he recalls was lying broken at the bottom of the hill, bleeding, in pain, a bone in his leg jutting out from his trousers. Arya Stark, the cold little bitch, squatting in the distance and watching him bleed.
Begging her to kill him. To end it. Ready for death.
But that's his own fucking business.