Bowery just... Very, very gently lays a blanket on the other ghoul's shoulders, then tucks it around him.
August, in his stupor, became dimly aware that something warm had landed upon his back. There wasn’t any central heating in The Third Rail. Hands weren’t so large. He felt fabric tickle at his flaking neck. No, it was a blanket. It was being wrapped around him like gentle bandages by some unknown assailant.
Any other time he would’ve jumped and shook the slightly tatty thing off, but tonight such intricacies would’ve been asking far too much of his whisky-pickled synapses. The old ghoul, instead, sloppily tugged it tighter around him. He could see Bowery’s leathery face out of the corner of his eye, all cracks and crevices and straggling dreadlocks, illuminated by The Third Rail’s dull, occasionally flickering lights. His hand had just started snaking away from his shoulder.
August looked at him. He sighed a chuckling sigh alcoholic enough to disinfect toilets. “I remember now. It… It was Chett Bolder.”
He swayed slightly, and collapsed into the sofa with a smile.
