Freya, in a concerningly out of character gesture of friendship(?), slides a fresh cup of coffee and a couple bars of chocolate across Graves’ desk, a serious expression on her face.
“Be careful at that tree. You need backup, you radio. You need exfil, you radio. You need a medic, you radio. Okay, jefe?”
- @el-perro-rabiosa 🌷
"Think I'll be fine, Hermana. Just... Have a bottle for me when I get back, yeah?" He says, pulling on his jacket as he looks away from the food. He can't eat.
He knows if he does, he'll feel nauseous the entire time. That's something he wants to avoid. He casts a glance at the radio, and skims his fingertips over it. "Might be best if I leave it here. They're an enemy of the state. Bein' an anarchist 'n all." He mutters, the Southern accent coming out, just a bit as his hangover ebbs and flows.
He closes his eyes, but quickly opens them. His balance impaired from the hangover and morning shot of vodka he had keeps him barely on his toes.
He looks at Freya, smiling softly. "Karma finds a way to bite ya in the ass ev'ry time, huh?" He chuckles. "I just hope the price ain't my life this time." He mutters, starting his journey to the Willow Tree.