[ the corner of his mouth twitches briefly -- just a hint of a smile -- but it's gone the second Charlie's standing in front of the guitars. He moves the sharpening stone closer to him, sets back to work at maintaining the knives.
It's silent for a while, save for the music of Peter's tape, and it weighs heavily on him, starts dredging up the inexplicable annoyance from earlier. He knows he probably just woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, but a petty part of him just wants to embrace it. Vent it. Fucking roll with it.
Man. Fuck today.
He puffs out a loud breath as he's sheathing the knife, and he stands, walking over to Charlie with his hands in the pockets of his jacket. ]
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It's silent for a while, save for the music of Peter's tape, and it weighs heavily on him, starts dredging up the inexplicable annoyance from earlier. He knows he probably just woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, but a petty part of him just wants to embrace it. Vent it. Fucking roll with it.
Man. Fuck today.
He puffs out a loud breath as he's sheathing the knife, and he stands, walking over to Charlie with his hands in the pockets of his jacket. ]
So. We just, like, staring at these things, or--?