It's Tim's turn to laugh, at the way Martin crinkles his nose at the mere suggestion.
"How d'you think you'd fit 'travelled cross-country through the apocalypse' on a resume, then? Since apparently I'm just a bloody idealist, and- do you hear how weird that sounds too?"
Martin holds up one hand, looking defensive. "Excuse me, Tim, I only put lies on my CVs. And anyway, it sounds like you're saying you don't think I can support myself on poetry income alone."
He still hurts so bad it's physical. His teeth and gums ache with his own stupid grief, over losing Jon, over giving up the Barge. But the laughter in his voice, as faint as it is, is utterly sincere.
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"How d'you think you'd fit 'travelled cross-country through the apocalypse' on a resume, then? Since apparently I'm just a bloody idealist, and- do you hear how weird that sounds too?"
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He still hurts so bad it's physical. His teeth and gums ache with his own stupid grief, over losing Jon, over giving up the Barge. But the laughter in his voice, as faint as it is, is utterly sincere.