We're rats in a maze watching other rats tear each other apart. You think there's no point now? Do nothing except wait three months. It's not going to get any better.
It's better than sitting around and shrugging every time there's a sleeve death.
[ They aren't sleeved the same way here - so what, it's not important.
Kristin takes a breath, trying to figure out how to get to where she's trying to go. She doesn't actually want to fight with Kovacs; she's just not all that good at stopping. ]
[He just manages to keep the-- something deep and dark, like shock or confusion but more-- from his voice. As a consequence, his words come across blandly, devoid of all emotion, including interest.]
[ The question piques some kind of defensiveness in her. Or maybe the way it's asked. Something does, anyway, and it bleeds into the edges of her voice. ]
[ It stings, and she can't quite put into words why. The sense of being dismissed is a lot of it. The sense of all her dead being dismissed, too - it's strangely lonely, and that sense of loneliness just serves to piss her off. ]
I'm not asking you to eat pan dulce and tell stories.
[ Not to be alone. Not to sit in her apartment by herself, with her empty ofrenda and whatever she feels like cooking, alone in the silence after the Barge finishes Halloween and forgets about any other holidays.
Not to have to explain herself. ]
Exactly what I said. [ She knows better than to want to end a conversation with Kovacs without wanting to throttle him a little. ] If you don't want to come over, don't.
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[ They aren't sleeved the same way here - so what, it's not important.
Kristin takes a breath, trying to figure out how to get to where she's trying to go. She doesn't actually want to fight with Kovacs; she's just not all that good at stopping. ]
If I could take it back, I would.
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Don't sweat it.
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Come over.
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Maybe later.
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Okay.
[ She's about to put the device away, but something in her is determined to linger past the obvious goodbye. ]
Two days from now. It's a holiday.
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Which one?
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[ A pause. ]
It's not a holiday you spend alone.
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[He just manages to keep the-- something deep and dark, like shock or confusion but more-- from his voice. As a consequence, his words come across blandly, devoid of all emotion, including interest.]
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Unless you have something better to do.
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I don't know your dead. You don't know mine. Probably shouldn't meet.
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I'm not asking you to eat pan dulce and tell stories.
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What the fuck are you asking?
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Not to have to explain herself. ]
Exactly what I said. [ She knows better than to want to end a conversation with Kovacs without wanting to throttle him a little. ] If you don't want to come over, don't.
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See ya.
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