The second most innocent man

[colmoranspecial]

Scribbles #5

Demons

Life was something that he just let happen around him. The weather changed, people were happy, making plans, complaining about the news. He didn’t… not really… care? He was on autopilot while everything happened around him. With a body in the present and a mind that found itself more often in the past. The frequency of these episodes scared him. He’d finally been caught up to, karma was chewing him up and it had started with his mind. Demons. Sebastian thought of his little sister. She was in no way weak, if anything he thought she must be made of stronger stuff than him with how much abuse she’d suffered at the hands of their father. He’d hated the man, certainly, but he didn’t feel affected in the same way that Nettie had been. Then again he could be fooling himself in thinking that. Whenever he’d seen his father as a child or young man it seemed to be because the great Sir Augustus felt that his son had done something very wrong and was a shame to the family name. Demons. The man built up years of hatred and where did it all go? As much as Sebastian had thought his blood lust was something of his own, perhaps it could be traced back to this seed of hatred that quite frankly had been given all the water and fertiliser it needed. It wasn’t even a flower of hatred, or a tree, it was a full blown bloody garden of hatred that Sebastian tended regularly and was a slave to. What was he if he wasn’t angry and vicious? Demons. He’d been packed up into the army, and there was no doubt in his mind that Sir Augustus had something to do with his dismissal as well. When he’d finally done something well even that was shameful. Sebastian never felt a need to please the patriarch, in fact he’d taken every opportunity to piss him off. The vicious cycle of not being good enough, acting out, getting yelled at, despising, and acting out again. Being a soldier was the one place he’d felt free of his father. Perhaps that had been a foolish thought given Sir August’s connections, the man kept a watchful eye. Much like someone else Sebastian knew. Demons. The Irishman embraced every broken bit of the sniper. Fed him jobs to slake his thirst, kept him obedient with treats and made him feel something that wasn’t hate. If only for a split second. There’d been a need between them. Sebastian needed that man too much, his brain couldn’t cope with depending that much on someone else. Then of course he’d been removed from the equation and what was the sniper left with? He was needing something that he could never have again. And the need just kept getting worse until he’d burst out in rage. Away from earshot, in the dark Sebastian could kick and scream and shout. Demons. He’d shouted his throat raw, banged his fists until they were bleeding and given himself migraines from heavy crying. But let no one ever know he was a feeling man. The official story was, well, he might as well be a machine. Untouchable by any pressure points. Only able to communicate a semblance of emotion through alter egos that were allowed actual feelings. Could he remember what the word truth meant anymore? Days went by. Seasons changed. Years just happened. He’d lived them, he knew he had. Jobs were done, sated a kind of hunger he supposed. It was more of a routine to keep him sane. Fed and clothed too. He saw new talents. People wanting to bathe in blood. Well, they’d do a good job of it and no one would miss the elusive sniper. Demons. Is it any wonder memories launched themselves at him with the force of a trebuchet and stuck their nails into his brain to make him see them. To make him live them again. The memory of feeding that need, the memory of never even having that need in the first place. Was that… l- no. Not that word. It was just a crisis, not even a midlife one, but a crisis nevertheless. He’d been on borrowed time for too long. Had he always been that shit at dealing with change? Sebastian found himself laughing. Demons. He felt eyes on him, someone looking intently at the strange man sat laughing at nothing. He snapped out of viewing the shit show that had been his life and found himself sat in a booth, alone with the barman in a seedy pub. The man probably thought he was homeless the way he looked. Out of it on something other than beer, what with how he’d laughed at nothing. Always laughing at nothing.

[yourcoffeeguru]

[colmoranspecial]

Aqua vera, right?

[kahahuna]

Sebastian Moran commission for @colmoranspecial <3

photo ref

[colmoranspecial]

Looking in the mirror going, "God, I'd like to have sex with myself!

[colmoranspecial]

Inner peace

Part 2 of 2.

Matt Mahon Isaiah Reed Ben Partridge

Sebastian stared at the list of names from the IT-team. The three men were the unfortunate souls who had been at the wrong place at the wrong time when the sniper’s mind spun out of control. He’d muttered, watching the CCTV footage, at the three of them huddled together. Like a pack of scavengers waiting for an opportunity. The Harlequin had been dull that night. And their curiosity would be their downfall. He had formulated a plan to see to that. 

The information brought to him indicated that Mahon, Reed, and Partridge were friends. It made the whole operation much easier on the sniper and he felt certain that he wouldn’t lose as much time and money as he had first expected. A group of friends meeting up after work to have a drink could easily be persuaded to drink anywhere. It was true that they had been loyal to The Harlequin, but the promise of free drinks would take care of that. 

The sniper found a pub to hire for one night. He had taken care to find a place that would allow him to fire from a distance, though he would have to set up his rifle on a floor far too low for his liking. The Windmill would be the scene of the trio’s demise, a place as gray as an ashtray. Despite its flaws it was close to The Harlequin, and on re-opening the first drink would be on the house and the next at half price. At least that was what the promotional emails said. How did this unknown pub get their email addresses? Mahon, Reed, and Partridge didn’t stop to think about it. 

Sebastian got Kay to act the bartender. The man whooped at the chance of getting to see bullets split three skulls, all up close. Sebastian had to pay him out of his own pocket, but it was worth it to stop him asking questions. They set up the pub to look as if people had already drunk and left by the time Mahon, Reed, and Partridge arrived. Kay turned down all other potential patrons, claiming he was closing up because of water damage. 

Waiting on the roof opposite The Windmill Sebastian looked through his scope with gritted teeth. Time and time again he glanced at the sports bag he’d used to carry his L115A3. There was a handgun in it, in case he’d change his mind. He was starting to. The PSS silent pistol he’d picked up in Russia shon in the moonlight when he unzipped the bag. It was a rare piece, very few had made it outside of Mother Russia. Sebastian gazed at the silver pistol with a look of nostalgia. He had not had an opportunity to use it in months. Just like that it was decided. With a nod Sebastian packed up his rifle, pocketed the pistol and swung the bag over his shoulder. He gave Kay a quick call and told him to text him if the trio turned up at the pub before he did. Sebastian had to get out around back, and leg it all around the building to then cross the street. Just as he was rounding the corner a message made his phone buzz: 

[Kay:] Huey, Dewey and Louie’s here! 

The sniper made a diagonal dash across the road. His eyes were fixed on the three heads inside The Windmill, but he still managed to hit the call button for his clean-up crew. He could see Mahon, Reed, and Partridge taking a seat at the bar while Kay was cleaning the counter at the very far end. 

Sebastian shut the door and locked it behind him. The click of the lock made one of three turn and face him. It was Reed. Reed fell to the floor with a bullet between his eyes. Two down, two to go. His phone clicked with the pick up and a low voice wondered ‘Yes, Mr Moran?’. Sebastian advanced on them. Mahon and Partridge had seen what happened, in the mirror behind the bar. Neither of them were fast enough to get off their barstools before Sebastian had ended them too. Mahon got a bullet through the larynx. Partridge tried to duck for cover with his hands on his head. He lost his index finger before the same bullet entered his brain. Sebastian’s breathing was ragged from the fast approach and the building adrenaline. Three down, four down. All set. He put the phone to his ear. ‘The Windmill. East End.’

With the witnesses dead he had achieved inner peace. But now he wanted more.

[colmoranspecial]

Inner Peace

Part 1 of 2.

He’d known when he started that it was going to be a drawn out project. Four targets, for free. The bartender who’d witnessed Sebastian’s descent into madness was the only one in a group of four men that was easy to find. Sebastian had his name, Kevin What’s His Face. He knew his place of work, The Harlequin. From there, the leap to finding his flat was not big. 

The sniper had smiled to himself upon discovering the 13th floor dwelling. Sat on the sofa in his spare flat he’d picked up Nelson the orange tabby and held the cat while he cackled like a comic book villain. “Bad luck, Kev. Bad luck.” He’d had to wait for an evening off. London’s organised crime would not be put on hold while the sniper finished a personal vendetta. His private ammunition was used for the job and there was no cash to pick up after the hit had been made. His only reward for disposing of this ‘wrong place at the wrong time’ bartender was inner peace. And let’s face it, the sniper needed all the inner peace he could get. 

The unfortunate bartender’s bad luck was no match for Sebastian’s fortune. The building site a mere hundred metres away served as the perfect perch for the sniper. While waiting for the blonde to step into his flat, Sebastian was treated to a roof over his head, and no pesky glass had been put into the windows yet. The cool autumn air was still around him. By 10:08 pm Kevin was still too, face down with a sleek bullet lodged in his cerebellum. 

One down - three to go. 

To find the other three men (had they been men though?) Sebastian was forced to go back and view the CCTV footage taken outside The Harlequin (yes they had). He had to watch himself flee out of the bar completely disoriented. His mind being years and miles apart at the same time. It churned his stomach to see the vulnerability in that old man’s strange trek down the street. Then Robin came after him, and with her the witnesses. His memory of the evening was hazy. He knew just how little he’d drunk, yet he was stumbling in that footage, drunk on the Scotch he’d consumed over twenty years prior. His brow furrowed, in the middle of all the nausea and dread he had to give Robin credit for managing to drag him along at all. The slim girl, about half his size, didn’t fear him. But then again who would when he was in that state? Eyes clouded by the past. The sting of his dishonourable discharge flared up again and Sebastian found the need to scratch every scar on his body. The same memory played in his mind, only this time he didn’t get utterly lost in it. A dingy bar, a poker game, drinks that he couldn’t pay for and a fight. In the CCTV footage he saw himself dodge a punch from an invisible assailant.

He paused the video and stalked into the kitchen. Sebastian grabbed every plate he owned, one by one, and flung them at the wall. The force with which he threw them made some of the shards bounce back and land by his feet. Sebastian didn’t care, he’d stepped on worse. And this rage would only be swayed by something breaking. By the time he ran out of plates he was panting. His breathing was the only sound in the flat; no one charging up the stairs, and no one complaining through his door. The neighbours already knew not to come knocking. Was this it? Had he finally become the madman he was rumoured to be? With the meaning of the word ‘mad’ shifted to something less desirable. The sniper looked down at the shattered dining set around his feet. His right foot held a scar from a knife attack he’d stopped with his boot. The damn blade pierced the sole of his shoe and had come out close to his pinky toe.

Back at his laptop he took screen caps of the three men huddled behind Kevin the bartender. He sent them on to the IT-team, putting in a rush order for their names and locations. Then he blacked out on the sofa.

TBC!

https://thegirlforhire.tumblr.com

[thegoodvybe]

[colmoranspecial]

Writing Challenge “So just so we are clear. No murders today.”

The quiet of the place was deafening. Sebastian's eyes were closed and the only thing he could hear was the second hand moving on the clock behind the reception desk. Maybe he wasn't really there? Maybe he was at home, asleep, and not bored out of his mind in a waiting room? He opened his eyes and found himself looking directly at a dark haired little girl in a blue rain coat. She was holding a cardboard box that contained a turtle. She looked at him without blinking, and so did her father. Sebastian peered down at Nelson. The orange tabby was stuffed inside his jacket, currently dozing with his human's body heat to comfort him. Sebastian didn't see what was so strange about that but apparently it was necessary to explain things to turtle girl and her dad. "He won't go in a crate." Sebastian said to them, trying to look apologetic about it. He gave up pretty quickly thinking he had nothing to be ashamed of. 

A nurse in scrubs stepped out into the waiting area. She seemed to have materialised out of nowhere. She was calling out names. It wasn't his turn yet. Shame. Sebastian could have done without the kid staring at him. And so the seconds kept on ticking by. He would have thought that a room filled with all sorts of animals would be a lot more noisy. Apart from the occasional rustling from a caged guinea pig, and the odd yawn from a huge Borzoi they were all very quiet. Even the humans were silent. Some making use of the horribly outdated reading materials laid out on various side tables. 

Sebastian sighed. If he didn't get out of there soon he would scream. He'd take waiting for a target in the rain over slowly going mad in the vet's waiting room any day of the week. But he couldn't leave. He wouldn't do that to Nelson. The sniper perked up when a man walked in with a yellow lab on his lead. He could tell both master and canine were in excellent shape. It was beyond him what their healthy glow was doing at the vet's. Perhaps just a check up. Sebastian watched them with interest. Finally something to look at that wasn't entirely depressing. He attempted a smile but he doubted the man had even looked at him. The tall stranger headed straight for the reception desk to sign in. Sebastian had to turn his head if he wanted to keep looking, and he did. Good God he had become turtle girl! The curse of the waiting room was upon him. He peeked at the man over his shoulder and turned back quickly to check on the feline curled up inside his jacket. His ears were focused on the man with the yellow lab. "Come on, Max, let's get you checked in." he heard him say. An American accent too, how exotic! The receptionist gave her usual speech, giving the man a form to fill out. Then the two of them took a seat. Thankfully they found a seat where Sebastian didn't have to turn his head to see them. 

Another nurse came through shortly after the american and his dog arrived, or was she a doctor? Sebastian couldn't tell. She had the right scrubs on anyway. He was too distracted to hear her the first time, but she was calling for Sebastian and Nelson. Oh thank God. He was free from the harrowing stare of turtle girl. "Nelson is oh that's unusual!" She commented of Sebastian's way of transporting the cat. Sebastian read her name tag. "Why yes, Caroline. Yes it is. But it's the only way he'll travel." Nurse (or doctor, who knew) Caroline took them to exam room 7. She had no qualms about waking Nelson up. "You wrote on the form that he'd been sick?" "Yes. I got home to a lot of cat vomit on the rug. And bird bones. I don't normally let him out on the balcony unsupervised, but I had to run for my phone. He doesn't really care for the outside anyway..." Sebastian told her about the bird that had landed on the balcony railing and how Nelson just went for it like a savage beast. "Absolutely no regard for the fact that we're four floors up." The nurse gave Nelson the once over, feeling his tummy which made the tabby squirm. His temperature was next and he didn't care much for that either, looking at Sebastian as if he'd never trust him again. They went over Nelson's eating habits. Was it possible he'd gotten into something? Of course it was! And Sebastian hated to admit he'd left something out that Nelson could munch on. "You really don't think it was the bird? He's not used to eating feathers and especially not bone. I've never seen him lunge at anything like that." Nelson seemed to be keen on inspecting his surroundings then. The scent of the other animals that had been in the exam room before him must have been confusing to wake up to. Sebastian looked around while he talked to Caroline. Since the vomiting was a one time occurrence she didn't deem it necessary with any other treatment than keeping an eye on him. "Just make sure he has plenty of water." When it was time to go they had to join forces to get Nelson back into Sebastian's jacket. With a few treats and a scratch behind the ear, the cat was happily settled in his snug nest and ready to go home. Sebastian started a lecture as they walked down the hall, back out to the waiting room and exit. "You can't just eat anything, you know. Even if I'm a careless twat leaving things out for ya. Definitely no more jumpin' after birds. You might be a ferocious killer at heart, but save the acrobatics for your fantasies, alright?" Nelson merely purred. "Okay. So just so we're clear. No murders today. Or any other day. I really don't want to have to take you back here." When he looked up from the cat he locked eyes with the american. He was taking the yellow lab into exam room 3. Sebastian tried the same smile he'd had when the man walked into the vet's. "I bet you dog owners don't have this problem, huh? Bloody bird catcher this one." He winked at the man, but didn't stick around to wait for an answer.

@hunterkincaid 

[colmoranspecial]

Writing Challenge “Dude. Why?”

The sniper dashed from room to room turning everything in the flat upside down. There was a long stream of curses coming out of his mouth and occasionally he'd grit his teeth and growl in frustration. Nelson, the orange tabby, hid under the sofa at the first sign of trouble. He was safe there, his head resting on a plush mouse Sebastian had bought him. The man himself was in the bathroom throwing towels around him. The bedroom had already been decorated with a layer of dirty laundry all over the floor. There was no clean clothes left. Sebastian was dead sure he was missing at least half his wardrobe. These were items he'd had for decades and would never part with, like that AC/DC shirt he'd lent to—oh! 

He bolted from the bathroom, jumped over a pile of towels. His eyes scanned the living room. Phone, phone, phone... Now he had to clean everything up to find the damn thing. Unless it started ringing? The sniper stood frozen in the middle of the living room; fingers crossed and eyes closed. Come on, ring. Ring..! But he had no such luck. When the flat was back to order and the dirty laundry sat in the laundry basket Sebastian found the phone. In his pocket. He bit down hard on his own arm and wheezed with the pain. He hadn't wanted to frighten Nelson who had fallen asleep on the sofa. 

Sebastian thought about texting, but fuck knew how long it would be before he'd get an answer. Instead he called Carson Mitchell, saved under the name 'twatface'. With his arm aching (and a fresh set of tooth marks on him) he paced the living room until the younger man answered his phone. 

"Pint?" "You wish, mate. Stop what you're doing, go home, and throw all the clothes you have that are mine into a bag. Then bring them here." "I'm busy, old man. Later." "No, not later. NOW! You've got at least four of my t-shirts by this point and that fuckin' jacket you never manage to return. I want it all back right now." The issue wasn't up for discussion, therefore he hung up and simply expected Carson to come over like he'd told him to. It was pushing on midnight when the dark haired man showed up. Carson threw a ball of bunched up clothes in Sebastian's face and the two of them hurled their usual abuse at each other before settling down. Sebastian offered the leftover takeaway he'd ordered earlier that evening. While Carson rummaged in the fridge Sebastian inspected the five t-shirts and the jacket, and found that at least two items needed to be mended. Wait a minute, five? He found the odd one out and tossed the t-shirt at Carson's head. 

"This isn't mine." He complained. "It's not mine either." The t-shirt was tossed back at Sebastian who chucked it at the younger man's head yet again. "Then bring it home with you and figure out who the fuck it belongs to." "Just keep it." The shirt made another trip through the air. "It says fuckin' 'REBEL' on it. No thank you." The offending t-shirt would later end up as a dish towel. Sebastian retrieved the sewing kit and sat down on the floor in front of the sofa. Nelson was still happily asleep in his favourite spot. Sebastian was expecting to hear the door slam as the younger man left, but instead he felt watched. The sniper turned his head and looked up from mending, he saw Carson stood in the doorway with a takeaway box, twirling noodles on a fork. They just stared at each other until the younger man spoke. 

"Dude. Why?" "Why what?" "Why are you sitting on the floor like a hippie?" The question made Sebastian huff. He turned back to his work. "Because I always sat like this when I was mending my uniform. School, and army. Guess it stuck. Besides..." He gestured at the cat behind him. "Sofa's taken." Sebastian looked back up at Carson. "Dude. Why?" "Why what?" The younger man's mouth was full of noodles. "Why is there an unknown t-shirt in this pile? I thought I was the only one you nicked clothes off of." Sebastian mock sniffled. Carson scoffed.

@a-violent-aesthetic

[colmoranspecial]

You may call me Saint Sebastian.

[colmoranspecial]

Jim: Staying alive, it’s so boring isn’t it? 

Sebastian: Answer. The damn. Phone. NOW...

[colmoranspecial]

[colmoranspecial]

Scribbles #4

The small bedroom was bordering on Vantablack, with blinds closed and the blackout curtain drawn and secured in place with the help of duct tape. It being night helped immensely. A blanket had been tucked into the slits around the door to prevent any traces of moonlight or the glow of the street lamps from reaching this dark cave.

Anyone else might consider the darkness excessive, but the man lying on the queen-sized mattress on the floor did not. In fact he had been dissatisfied with the result and hidden his eyes under a pillow. The covers pulled up to his chin, touching his lower lip as he breathed heavily into the darkness. He knew time had passed since he first laid down. He could tell because every throb inside his skull was as loud as the second hand of an old clock. He would have sworn he could hear it lap after lap around the clock face.

Work was being ignored. It wasn’t approved of. He knew because he had made the mistake of dropping his mobile phone at the foot of the mattress. The mattress shook with every angry text that came through, vibrating the phone and passing those vibrations right to his already aching head. It was impossible to switch the damn thing off. It was out of reach. Just thinking about moving, thinking about thinking, hurt.

His brain was out of the game, but there was some suggestion of thinking delegated to his muscles. The nausea started to build as the muscles in his arms and legs kicked into gear. There was a twitch of a finger, the angling of a foot. Somehow the brain got wind of this and shut the activity down, keeping the sickness at bay. The second hand made another lap around the clock face.

[colmoranspecial]

Hearts

There once was a day of hearts  We threw them off the roof of St Bart's They bounced and bled They hurt your head Leaving your skull in parts 

[gunsblades]

[colmoranspecial]

Yes. *pew pew*

[colmoranspecial]

The show must go on!

Always with the earphones. Jim's entrances are for him and for him alone, no one else can hear the music... This is the man that commands me.

[colmoranspecial]

Nettie - Part X

By the time the cab had arrived at the hospital near the intended hotel, Sebastian had had a change of heart. He huffed and cursed himself for having let the panic mode affect his thinking. A hotel was a quick and temporary solution, it simply wouldn’t do. There would be no access to a change of clothes and they wouldn’t be left alone, as the cleaning staff would be sure to show up sometime during their stay. 

Sebastian was on his phone, making quick arrangements via text to have the bike picked up and taken back to his spare flat. That was also where he would take Nettie. After he had paid the cabbie and made sure the man had seen them walking toward the hospital entrance he made a sharp turn, still supporting most of Nettie’s weight. Another car was waiting for them in the hospital car park. The same kind of slick BMW Jim had arrived in the first time the sniper had met him. Sebastian remembered it had been silver, this one was black. Newton was the fastest responding driver, he was also the best that the empire had and Sebastian’s favourite get-away driver. The two men exchanged polite nods as the sniper peeked into the car. Sebastian helped Nettie into the back seat, dropping the sports bag gently on the floor of the car. 

“Where are we going, Bastian?” Nettie asked in a voice that was close to the raspiness he had acquired from years of smoking. It was somewhere between a hiss and a whisper. He hadn’t seen it but her eyes had been closed most of their journey through the city, even after she seemed to be coming out of her dazed high.  “We’re going...” He was about to say ‘home’ but realised what that might suggest to her. The family house had never been home to either of them, and yet that was what he assumed she would think of. He didn’t want to remind her of that. Though of course he didn’t really know what the word ‘home’ meant to her now. It could be that rehabilitation centre their parents had sent her to.  “We’re going to a safe place. I’ll be there with you.” He assured his sister. 

The spare flat was one that he had come to use more and more after Jim abandoned ship. The criminal just went AWOL and Sebastian received a text instructing him to captain the ship, expecting unanswered questions to stay unanswered. The sniper couldn’t stand to be in the presence of the things they had shared in the master criminal’s flat. He felt stupid for thinking it had meant something when in reality it was nothing. Sebastian couldn’t work with nothing. The tiger needed a hunt that mattered. He was never meant to run the empire, but with the head of the hydra cut, the second in command was the only one left to take over. The ordeal had at least helped the sniper understand where the master criminal’s headaches came from.

Sebastian’s face morphed into a similar expression that could be found on Sir Augustus’ face. Looking at Nettie, Sebastian saw fear in her eyes and he couldn’t figure out why for the longest time. It stripped him of the anger that he had allowed to build, being alone in his own head for too long. “What’s the matter?” He asked her. For all the genetics in the mix that had made the both of them an almost exact image of their mother, Sebastian didn’t seem to be able to shake the parts of Sir Augustus that made up the rest of his genetic material. As Nettie saw the anger fade and get replaced with concern she calmed. It was their mother’s eyes looking back at her again. The reason she had trusted that Sebastian was really there in the first place. “You had that look in your eye. that he used to have when he called us into his office.” Sebastian could feel Nettie shivering against his side. “Like he was ready to hurt us.” She mumbled. She tucked her head under his chin. The pom-pom on her wool hat tickled his face again. Sebastian let out a silent sigh, and apologised for scaring her.

The car came to a halt and Sebastian exchanged another look with Newton. He assured the man that he would be compensated for the last minute run. The sports bag with Sebastian’s equipment got snatched off the floor before the car door closed and Newton drove away. Sebastian retrieved the key from the bag and started inside the building with Nettie. The next few days would be hard on her, but he’d be there now that he finally could.

“When was the last time you ate something?” Sebastian turned the key and ushered Nettie inside the flat. She was going back and forth between awake and aware, only to seem fatigued and on the verge of falling asleep the next minute. His question was answered with a shrug, telling him which state she was in just then. The fridge was stocked, he would make her something while she rested. There was also the issue of a shower, he certainly wanted one. They both smelled of sick and as soon as the door had closed behind them, Sebastian tugged his stained t-shirt off without thinking, leaving Nettie to gape at the scars that adorned his upper body. Most notable was of course the three parallel scars going from left to right down his torso, making it look like a sash had been burned into his skin. Nettie pointed at the scars, having little to no idea where to begin with all the questions that they raised. Sebastian was far too nonchalant about it.

“Long story.” the sniper shook his head. “An army memento.” “Father was right? You tried to kill yourself?” Sebastian laughed unexpectedly at the question. “No. In fact, hell no. I’ll tell you in the morning, alright?” He smiled, guiding her to the bedroom where the en-suite was. There wasn’t much to the room; a queen-sized mattress on the floor made up the bed, with a dresser on the opposite side of the room next to the door that lead to the bathroom. 

“The bathroom’s in there, if you need it. Bed’s all yours if you want to get some rest. I thought I’d make us something to eat.” He could barely believe the way he was speaking, as if she was an old friend visiting and not his long lost sister. There was no ‘normal’ way to behave in a situation like that.

Nettie nodded at his words but had a small frown forming, deepening the wrinkle between her eyes. Sebastian thought he recognised the dilemma she was going over in her head. Sleeping without the aid of pills or indeed drugs meant there was a risk of nightmares. He had resigned himself to that fate, but Nettie had not.  “Will you sit with me until I fall asleep?” He gave her a nod, moving to open the dresser drawer. He thought he’d find her something clean to sleep in. Sebastian noticed then that he had failed to register she’d shed her fluffy jacket. During his distracted thoughts Nettie dodged for the bathroom and emptied what was left in her stomach. Sebastian frowned, hearing the sounds of retching. The sniper leaned into the room, checking on his sister. 

He’d get her a large glass of water. Before leaving the bedroom he placed an old tank-top on the bed for her, hurrying into the kitchen to get that water. There wasn’t much by way of kitchen supplies which meant improvising. He filled the coffee pot with cold water and brought a clean mug back to the bedroom. 

Nettie had rinsed her mouth and was changing into the tank-top. He thought he could see her swaying and quickly put the water aside. She looked about ready to fall asleep right there on her feet. Sebastian caught her and together they sank to the floor just outside the bathroom. Nettie hummed and leaned back against his warm torso. He had always been a furnace to anyone willing to bunk with him. His body temperature seemed to calm her and her head lulled to the side. Breaths slowed, implying she had indeed fallen asleep.

[colmoranspecial]

A man named Moran

There once was a man named Moran  Who claimed to be more than a man He'd get on all fours With hisses and roars Accompanied by an Irish madman