That is not the thing to request when I'm trying to write Zara/Liberation and they won't snog because she's mad for Florian, yo.
Zara watches impassively as Torrens searches Florian's body for the bullet. She stands by the wall, without saying anything, with an air of protection, as if she's making sure he doesn't suddenly try to assassinate Florian with the thing--whatever it is--he's using to prod around. Torrens prods; he prods again; Florian, feverish, lets out a gasp and cries "Zara!", lost a little in a ragged breath. She starts forward. "What? Tell me!" Torrens shakes his head. "He's ill. He can't hear you. He doesn't know what he's said." "Yes, he does," Zara whispers fiercely, not resuming her place by the wall. "He wants me. I won't leave." "I didn't ask that," Torrens says, still searching for the bullet. "I'm telling him, not you."
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That is not the thing to request when I'm trying to write Zara/Liberation and they won't snog because she's mad for Florian, yo.
Zara watches impassively as Torrens searches Florian's body for the bullet. She stands by the wall, without saying anything, with an air of protection, as if she's making sure he doesn't suddenly try to assassinate Florian with the thing--whatever it is--he's using to prod around. Torrens prods; he prods again; Florian, feverish, lets out a gasp and cries "Zara!", lost a little in a ragged breath. She starts forward.
"What? Tell me!"
Torrens shakes his head. "He's ill. He can't hear you. He doesn't know what he's said."
"Yes, he does," Zara whispers fiercely, not resuming her place by the wall. "He wants me. I won't leave."
"I didn't ask that," Torrens says, still searching for the bullet.
"I'm telling him, not you."