His needs seemed more urgent, Malcolm's voice says in his head, the words themselves feeling like an accusation even if the tone didn't. Neal closes his eyes, and lifts his cup to finish his tea with his unburned hand.
He doesn't know what else to say. He could tell Malcolm he heard wardens talking about pulling out Lestat's teeth and filing down his nails, could say he heard about Shaw's surveillance and the fact that she destroyed an instrument to make a point. He could point out that Will wanted to go after Lestat, that Lark was in the middle of doing it, that he had no way to know none of those people would come to Malcolm's defense the same way they did when it sounded like Lestat was about to be mobbed and torn to pieces. His friend. His flawed, violent, entirely-in-the-wrong friend. All he thought to expect from the meeting was more of the same from the wardens in attendance.
Neal flexes his bandaged fingers, looking over to see George creeping back out from his hiding place under the couch. "Sorry buddy," Neal murmurs.
He finishes his tea and clears his throat, straightening up. "I should--I should leave. You probably..."
Will is probably coming over to be a better friend on top of all the other things he's better at. Neal drags a hand through his hair and moves to stand up.
no subject
His needs seemed more urgent, Malcolm's voice says in his head, the words themselves feeling like an accusation even if the tone didn't. Neal closes his eyes, and lifts his cup to finish his tea with his unburned hand.
He doesn't know what else to say. He could tell Malcolm he heard wardens talking about pulling out Lestat's teeth and filing down his nails, could say he heard about Shaw's surveillance and the fact that she destroyed an instrument to make a point. He could point out that Will wanted to go after Lestat, that Lark was in the middle of doing it, that he had no way to know none of those people would come to Malcolm's defense the same way they did when it sounded like Lestat was about to be mobbed and torn to pieces. His friend. His flawed, violent, entirely-in-the-wrong friend. All he thought to expect from the meeting was more of the same from the wardens in attendance.
Neal flexes his bandaged fingers, looking over to see George creeping back out from his hiding place under the couch. "Sorry buddy," Neal murmurs.
He finishes his tea and clears his throat, straightening up. "I should--I should leave. You probably..."
Will is probably coming over to be a better friend on top of all the other things he's better at. Neal drags a hand through his hair and moves to stand up.