Camilla was really very good at being diplomatic; it was something Francis had never particularly excelled at. Nor, apparently, did Richard. Francis's eyes widened in mute horror as the man continued to-- well, 'dig his own grave' was probably the wrong metaphor to use here, but that was pretty much the right idea. He pressed his lips together tight around his cigarette, his nostrils flaring slightly. "Well, Richard, that makes all the difference," he snorted, rolling his eyes towards Camilla.
"It's not that bad," he sighed, tenatively touching his fingers to his reddened cheek. "Is it? I've been living with it. The atmosphere down there was dreadful." The sunburn was his burden to bear, much like his frequent panic heart attacks and lupus.
He brightened up slightly at the mention of alcohol. Liquor cured many an ill, and made others much easier to bear, he found. "God, yes." He rubbed his face and sucked in on his cigarette, then smiled bravely at the both of them. "Come on, let's go see your tent. I'd been meaning to come by before my little trip."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2007-09-12 05:47 am (UTC)"It's not that bad," he sighed, tenatively touching his fingers to his reddened cheek. "Is it? I've been living with it. The atmosphere down there was dreadful." The sunburn was his burden to bear, much like his frequent
panicheart attacksand lupus.He brightened up slightly at the mention of alcohol. Liquor cured many an ill, and made others much easier to bear, he found. "God, yes." He rubbed his face and sucked in on his cigarette, then smiled bravely at the both of them. "Come on, let's go see your tent. I'd been meaning to come by before my little trip."