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people didn’t really filter themselves around me but that’s true… even if they were shitty out loud, they probably thought worse i’m sorry you have to hear it it’s probably… actually awful. when people are are horny and you have to hear it ( he wrinkles his nose, wonders how often she has to deal with being objectified. she beautiful, gorgeous and he’s enraptured but Eddie’s sure his fellow men wouldn’t always think the most flattering of words. )

can you do it over distance?

You shouldn’t pity me, Eddie. You should fear me.

( the endless pursuit: parisa has no idea how evil she’d have to be in order to be seen as anything more than beautiful. libby could probably tell her, but she could probably be defined as a psychopath by someone who didn’t know her. )

Do you want to know what you’re thinking?

( neither a yes or a no. )

who said i pity you? i think people are awful, that's different. you could probably ruin them, couldn't you? ruin me if you wanted to tell me what i'm thinking ( something aches at the base of his skull, a throb like the start of a headache. he winces, frowns and shakes it off and hopes it's not what he thinks that is about to get unpleasant at someone poking too deep. )

Nobody walks headfirst into ruination. You should at least have the decency to make me hate you first.

( eugh. she’s practically smitten. )

If you were less kind, you’d be thinking how stuck up I am, to look how I look and have the audacity to complain. But you’re not, so I imagine you’re thinking about every thought you’ve had in my presence, and how much of an ass you’ve made of yourself, and whether or not I know how much you want me. If it helps, you haven’t thought anything awful that I’ve seen. And I don’t need telepathy to know the rest.

see... that's usually pretty easy for me and i'm also an idiot, parisa. i run straight into danger that's probably too kind a read of it. i do wonder though. if you know? what you want?

Well, could you try a little harder? What do you think I want, if you had to guess?

you'll get to see my shining personality i know you like when i'm a good boy, but given you want to be feared... i'm guessing it's not just that. something about me makes you want to be soft. you don't seem like a woman who's gotten a lot of opportunity to be soft

It’s much better than being dull, you have to admit.

( a brief, one two pause. parisa, taken aback that anyone might think softness of her — she is, by far, largely seen as some kind of ice queen, and she appreciates that role because it means people see her as impenetrable. what tender spot eddie has apparently seen in her, is not something she herself was aware of. worthy of further inspection, at the very least. )

I wouldn’t say it’s a lack of opportunity. ( she is, after all, married. if she wanted, she could be barefoot and pregnant. she could probably grow to love her husband one day. ) I’d rather be something powerful, than something gentle. When your looks are what you are, you aren’t much of anything at all, really.

i'd rather die again than be boring i think i get that. i mean, people judge me for my looks and my last name all the time. i just play into it as a fuck you to them, so they don't get to see the real me deep down i think you can be both with the right people. powerful, gentle. they don't have to be two seperate things

I'd rather you die than be boring.

( not remotely true, but it's the right Mean Girl™ thing to say )

Are you less of a rockstar deep down? Well. You're very cute, Munson. I'll give you that.

you’d come to the funeral, yeah? i didn’t have one last time ( to be fair he doesn’t know if he did or not )

nah, that’s me wanna hear a fucked up story about my brush with stardom

I'd be the first in line to pay my respects. What should I bury you with?

( "last time"? hm. )

Yes, I do.

some weed and my guitar so i was in a band, corroded coffin, can you picture it? me as a guitarist and front man. i wrote our songs. we were a small town band but we were good. good enough that a talent scout had us audition for a big LA producer and everything. there was just one thing... a little catch. take a guess

You just need a porn magazine and a black light poster, and your coffin will be the average American frat boy's bedroom.

( presumably — ) You had to sleep with someone for it?

me? a frat boy? neverrrrrrr gross nah needed money but i was a trailer park kid no one would hire for legit work and then my old man rolled up with a crazy ass scheme to rob a drug lord

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