On any other day, at any other time, she wouldn't even bother with that much. Tara-Fay has long known, or at least sensed, that Tristan thinks of her with a kind of condescending magnanimity, as if to him, the eight or so months' difference in their ages might as well be eight years. Well, she's no less stubborn or prideful than he is, and quite a bit more contrary. She certainly doesn't need the judgment cloaked in wide-eyed concern he's so fond of directing at her.
Some part of her, though, senses that for once he might have the advantage: that the boy who acts like he knows everything has something he wants to hear from her. And Tara-Fay's not the sort of person who avoids the chance to revel in that. She cranes her neck around to look at him.
"What is it now?" she says, trying to sound bored. She is not, alas, the best of actresses.
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On any other day, at any other time, she wouldn't even bother with that much. Tara-Fay has long known, or at least sensed, that Tristan thinks of her with a kind of condescending magnanimity, as if to him, the eight or so months' difference in their ages might as well be eight years. Well, she's no less stubborn or prideful than he is, and quite a bit more contrary. She certainly doesn't need the judgment cloaked in wide-eyed concern he's so fond of directing at her.
Some part of her, though, senses that for once he might have the advantage: that the boy who acts like he knows everything has something he wants to hear from her. And Tara-Fay's not the sort of person who avoids the chance to revel in that. She cranes her neck around to look at him.
"What is it now?" she says, trying to sound bored. She is not, alas, the best of actresses.