Thank fuckin’ shit, you’d look like a dork with literally no hair. And hey, that ain’t even my shtick anymore–shit, for the most part, anyway. *snorts*
Well… fuck. ‘Least you didn’t go and get yourself shot to hell while I was gone. If I’d come back and you’d gotten yourself killed somehow, I would’ve found some way to bring you back so I could kick your ass myself *grins right back*
No worries regardless. Though I hope you like it cause it’s stayin’ a while.
Please, I did the dyin’ thing once before. It wasn’t that fun. I remember the last threat you made, anyhow. *a cough before a shrug* Only thing that really happened is I broke my wrist. *she held up said wrist before twisting it around to show it had since healed* Got shot once but it glanced off the metal I got in my thigh from Trebin. See? I can do just fine on my own!
Now. Where the hell were you? *she accuses, closing the distance without looming*
A bottle of ryncol rested within arm's reach. In front of her on the desk was a datapad full of casualty reports and troop movements as well as requests for intel from a recent recon mission she had gone on. She sighed, rubbing at her temples with one hand. The other was stroking the cat's fur. Mieze was perfectly content to take up the rest of the chair.
Shane wasn't on her first or her second or her third bottle of ryncol. She was on her fourth and she didn't see herself stopping any time soon. Usually she drank in excess to help her get to sleep but the flashbacks and nightmares were doing a fine job of keeping her awake.
Jack usually was a huge help in getting the Commander to sleep. Her sheer presence was often enough to calm the vanguard and let her sleep in peace. If the flashbacks got too bad even for that, Jack would often stay up with the Commander and they'd sit in silence just sharing the occasional touch or kiss once in a while.
She groaned a little bit and shifted her weight in her chair. Her hand accidentally knocked the bottle off of the desk and it crashed to the floor. The crash woke Mieze and she meowed, hopping onto the desk to peer over the edge at the glass and the rest of the ryncol Shane had left in the bottle.
With a barely audible grumble, Shane dropped to hands and knees and proceeded to pick up the pieces with her bare hands. The glass sliced into her hands but she didn't care. By the time she had picked it all up she had a nice soup of blood and glass in her palm. She quickly tossed the shards away then wiped her hand off. She applied medigel to stop the bleeding and wrapped it crudely.
While some would stop drinking after that, Shane grabbed another bottle regardless.
"Here's t' the Goddamn war I'm still fightin' 'cause people are all idiots who don't even believe their own eyes," she slurred out before taking a long swig. She really missed Jack.
Eventually the Commander fell asleep at her desk, still doing work. Mieze settled in around Shane's shoulders like a stole.
By the time Jack came back, Shane was sound asleep. She noted the new bandage on Shane's hand but didn't say anything. She only helped Shane to the bed. The older biotic instantly curled up against the younger and fell into a deeper sleep.
Funny how the two had argued some months back about drinking yourself stupid because of personal problems. But sometimes one had to put arguments to the side for later.
Or, they both recognized sometimes situations change as well as opinions.
Shane didn't care. She was finally asleep without nightmares.
elementnought hat auf deinen Eintrag geantwortet: Hey bitch.
Hey. Listen. Ugh. Shit. Shane, we've gotta talk. I've got shit to say, to apologize for and stupid stuff like that. You busy?
In a way I'm always busy. But as usual, I always have time for you. So go for it. It's not like everyone's gonna bite th' dust while I'm talkin' t' you.
