It's not enough. Richard could feel it as he said it, can see it in Seth's reaction, the long moment watching his brother roll it over in his head and still not find that catch of an idea, a goal. It itches. Has him wanting to head back to the library, hit the books some more. Uncover even some loose evidence of what they need. A path.
But he stays where he is. One hand out for a pass of the bottle, dry humour tugging the corners of his mouth.
"Aside from us needing to brush up on our knife skills?"
The bottle is passed back after only a short swig, Richard more interested in the rhythm of this, the back and forth, than the alcohol itself.
"We could make it." Flippant. They probably could, if they really dug down deep, but it would be more work than putting something together from cat litter and fertilizer. Still: "Might cut this war crap down a little shorter."
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But he stays where he is. One hand out for a pass of the bottle, dry humour tugging the corners of his mouth.
"Aside from us needing to brush up on our knife skills?"
Not that they'd ever really let them go rusty.
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But still, he's game enough to return Richie's sarcasm with a wry smile of his own.
"Knife skills, sword skills, whatever the fuck," is shadowed with medieval bullshit. "You think they have dynamite yet?"
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"We could make it." Flippant. They probably could, if they really dug down deep, but it would be more work than putting something together from cat litter and fertilizer. Still: "Might cut this war crap down a little shorter."