"Like an effin' house on fire." Grumbled Pickles, scowling. "I need a fuckin' drink. I need a cigarette." He was gritting his teeth, his nails digging into the pillowcase. If they were any sharper, they'd have ripped the pillow.
"Well, I got both." He offers the cigarettes, and a flask. Lord knows where he found it, but it is his old one. It's an ancient clunky thing with a name engraved on it -- Brennan. "Been up a while. Sorta like... cleaning this place up a little, or something."
Mostly, that means he's been doing the Hippie Thing and managed to weave an egg basket out of butchered strips of pizza boxes. Not that he got so far as to figure out whether there were eggs in the place.
"Awesome, you should get a medal." He growled, snagging both items, first finishing off the flask and then lighting a cigarette, taking a long drag of it. "Augh, I hate this shit. I feel like I need a hundred asprin and a bath in tiger balm." He hadn't unfolded away from the pillow yet, his leg spasming occasionally. "Maybe a shower."
Comments 125
"Hey, babe," he says softly. "How're you doing?"
Reply
"Engh. I didn't wake you up, did I?"
Reply
Mostly, that means he's been doing the Hippie Thing and managed to weave an egg basket out of butchered strips of pizza boxes. Not that he got so far as to figure out whether there were eggs in the place.
Reply
Reply
Reply
Leave a comment