Indie\'s hand lowered slowly back towards his harness again, his lips pressing together in a disapproving line and his eyes glittering angrily as he watched her take a step back from him. Like there was something wrong with him, all because of a little joke. And she\'d left him hanging, like he was some asshole beneath her filthy bare feet. Fuck that.
"Oh, anything they like, as long as it\'s not late for dinner, right?" he told her lightly, the words an old joke that he couldn\'t have placed if someone had asked him where he\'d heard them; it was just something to throw at her that wasn\'t abuse, and gave him an excuse to turn his back on her and stalk away.
As he passed Will, he threw a glare at him that was meant to say, \'This bitch? I fucking tried, man,\' but was more a seething expression of hurt and indignation that she\'d flat out rejected his civil gesture. He\'d done his part, though, and all he was interested in was watching Will interact with her anyway, not do it himself, so fuck it.
He could do that well enough from where their equipment was sitting on the ground. He strode over to it, going around the far side and hunkering down over it, pretending he was intently interested in something within one of the bags. His and Will\'s motorbikes were at his back and he was facing his friend and the fledgling bitch from where he squatted, pulling on his glove and fussing with unused ropes and other equipment thereafter. His gaze flickered incessantly from what he was pretending an interest in to the two of them though, watching and learning everything he could.