[ Booker hums a noncommittal sound. It isn't that he disagrees with Margo, not by a long shot, but what he'd done in his own personal experience was nothing to be proud of. It was cowardly and it was selfish, and while he could pile on the excuses, the justifiable reasons, wanting to give Andy a way out as much as he wanted one for himself — the only one he'd been thinking of at the end of the day was himself.
It hadn't been his finest moment, so it's nice to have a distraction. He looks in Margo's direction again, the grim expression in his features clearing when he catches her gaze, notes that smile of hers, allows it to distract. ]
Compared to all his soldiers, oui. [ Heck, even on his own, he didn't exactly have the physical height to account for his impossibly large ego and ambition.
#FuckNapoleon, really. ] He was a small man. Stout. 'Pompous' is another good word to describe him.
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It hadn't been his finest moment, so it's nice to have a distraction. He looks in Margo's direction again, the grim expression in his features clearing when he catches her gaze, notes that smile of hers, allows it to distract. ]
Compared to all his soldiers, oui. [ Heck, even on his own, he didn't exactly have the physical height to account for his impossibly large ego and ambition.
#FuckNapoleon, really. ] He was a small man. Stout. 'Pompous' is another good word to describe him.