[And it's true enough-- very neat, so close to uniform, done with sliced with perfect precision. Perhaps he doesn't know much about good, but he does know how to cut, how to wield a sharp implement. Crookedly, he smiles in the wake of her praise, some part of him quietly pleased to have done something right whilst the larger part scoffs at himself for such feelings, the need, even now, to be told he's done well.]
I suppose it's all the same, ultimately. The act of cutting, no matter what it's directed towards.
[His tone is slightly wry, but he does as he's been asked and places the sliced carrots to one side. Turns his attention to the meat, instead.]
no subject
I suppose it's all the same, ultimately. The act of cutting, no matter what it's directed towards.
[His tone is slightly wry, but he does as he's been asked and places the sliced carrots to one side. Turns his attention to the meat, instead.]