Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-26084401-20150607230440/@comment-25686329-20150610220108

"Sounds great." the Yankee said blankly. "Hey, I'll, uh, catch up with you later."

He ruffled her hair a little, like a kid, before darting off in search of Hank.

- - -

He found him in the stables.

"Well, I'm here, and alive..." The Yankee said as he spotted him tending to one of the horses. "...and you are too. Just when is that famous Battle you're slated to die at?"

Hank looked up. Author, that man didn't age. He was still as youthful, vibrant, strapping as ever. His expression, however, was solemn, and the Yankee swore he looked a little hurt.

"I'm sensing some anger here?" he asked, void of emotion.

The Yankee blew out a scoff. "Look, I can handle our yearly phone call, but if you're going to keep pretending like everything's fine for the course of my stay... don't talk to me."

He exited. He had issued his warning, voiced his thoughts, now it was time to at least try to enjoy himself.

- - -

Hank tried to busy himself with the horse before him, but the Yankee's words stuck. He had tried to move on since the incident, but part of him was still deeply depressed by it.

The Yankee was right. Other than him, Hank had the most right to be angry, and he couldn't continue this charade forever.

Ugh.