( he had mentioned something like it. about his father sounding like the way she talks, likely from somewhere in central or eastern europe; there's a pause at the familiarity, then, of something that had belonged to her family but had been robbed, amidst the bombs and deaths and being made an orphan. it is hard to believe in a benevolent god when, at the age of ten, she lost everything but her life, and just barely. it was easier to put her faith in the teachers and nurses at the orphanage, at the scary soldiers from sokovia's militia who promised to liberate their country. )
Oh.
( is all she manages to say, placing the container down on the counter again. the water in the kettle bubbles, but doesn't boil, yet.
strange, really, to find another similarity with marc or spector or mr knight, or however he wants to go byβ wanda nods at his muffled gratitude, waiting for him to taste the krofne proper, give her his verdict about it. )
My brother, Pietroβ ( a heavy pause, before she bolsters forward, ) he also preferred the ones with jelly.
no subject
Oh.
( is all she manages to say, placing the container down on the counter again. the water in the kettle bubbles, but doesn't boil, yet.
strange, really, to find another similarity with marc or spector or mr knight, or however he wants to go byβ wanda nods at his muffled gratitude, waiting for him to taste the krofne proper, give her his verdict about it. )
My brother, Pietroβ ( a heavy pause, before she bolsters forward, ) he also preferred the ones with jelly.