@springmother continued from HERE
--- it’d been a long night.
he’d whiled away the hours doing what he’d always done, after all, alcohol was an age old invention and when he’d been less than he is now, and somehow more, a mortal king of mortal men, between wine and water, alcohol had been the safer option. He rarely wakes up with a hangover, rarely wakes with more than just the surface aches of a well used body. he wondered, vaguely as he scratched at one hairy ankle with his bare feet, how long he’d be here. where he wasn’t exactly welcome or wanted waiting for the word of a man he didn’t particularly like.
he shrugged, a half-teasing tilt to his lips slanting them up, his mouth tasted like something had breathed it’s last breath inside it.
“ s’fine. damn near a dress on ya tho, ain’t it ?? ” of course it’s fine. not like he has much to be mad about, he likes his clothes just fine, but not enough to be picking fights over, sides, she looked good, half drowned in fabric, the once crisp linen soft and weathered. the red of the shoulders stood stark against the black and the blond of her hair. she’s so small, next to her compressed power he feels like a giant, breaking everything he touches.
he tucked his thumbs into his suspenders, pursed his lips, things were easier with her when there was a script, when things could be boiled down like sugar to caramel, one dimensional. one feeling at a time and not a choked up soft thing. he wasn’t used to swallowing violence.
“ anyhow, don’t suppose ya got some grub for a fella ?? m’ a mite bit late for breakfast, I figure.”
