"If I'm there to catch you when you fall- You'll have a friend down in Hell after all..." The last week had been. Weird, to say the least, busy, marked with work- restoring the intranet, checking on injured friends and looking after Russell to lighten Sissy's load- It had been almost an act of desperation, radioing G and Wren to see if they had the time to sit around and play something, anything, to pass the time, to latch onto a little normalcy around the stress of trying to 'live in the after' for what felt like the hundredth time that year. They were down a few members, Cyan and G slumped onto a dirty couch in the Romero garage, feet propped up and guitars across their laps, Wren absently playing a wooden box between her feet for percussion- it was a break from reality.
Reality comes creeping alongside Hunter Hilton, who is also creeping further out of town than Cyan tends to see him. "And if you're there to catch me when I fall- Then maybe Hell ain't so bad-" He lifts a hand, waving slightly to quiet the instruments. "You lost, Hilton?" Comes the question, a raised brow over sunglasses quickly tucked into his hair. "If you're trying to round two Mo, he's not here." Word traveled fast, it seems.
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