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Summary
Tugger puffs himself all out in his indignity. “So now I’m, what, I’m supposed to act like – we’re what, we’re just a nice little family? That’s what we’re gonna be for the next – five, six hours?”
“Everlasting. Yes,” Munkustrap says, quietly, squeezing his eyes shut. When he raises his head, he finds Tugger staring at him, head cocked ever-so-slightly to the side. Concern or distaste – he’s been getting all too good at blending the two lately. It irritates Munkustrap like a splinter under the claw, and he says, feeling as though Tugger expects elaborating, “Well, how many years has that charred theater been hiring you for – eight? And you still can’t do a little performing?”
Tugger sneers. “Oh, Straps, you want a performance? I’ll give you a performance.”
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Or, on the wonders of meeting one's estranged brother over the death bed of one's estranged mother, theatrics, trust, and the absurdity of life at its most.
Series
- Part 1 of |year of the cat|