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Sep. 30th, 2019 12:27 pmAll things considered, Sweeney feels pretty goddamn zen about the whole thing.
Could be that the shock hasn't worn off yet or it could be that he'd just gotten used to Laura Moon fucking his life up in one way or another, but whatever the case, once the sun has set over the city and night has fallen, Sweeney finds himself out on the balcony of the flat he shares with Spike. He has a bottle of beer in one hand, a cigarette smouldering in the other, and he's got his chair kicked back on its back legs, his boots propped up against the railing that keeps idiots from plummeting straight to the cement below.
He can't believe she's here. Can't believe she's alive. At least there's no risk of her trying to steal his coin back this time, because without it, he couldn't even be sitting like this. His chair would tip or the railing would loosen and he'd end up smashing his skull open on the sidewalk. But it's his again now and she doesn't need it.
Looking out over the city, Sweeney lifts the bottle of beer and takes a sip, then glances back over his shoulder when he hears the bedroom door open. Spike had helped him bury her not all that long ago. He knows who Laura is and what she's meant to Sweeney. He's shit at this part, but he can't just say nothing.
"Out here," he calls. "Put on some socks, it's getting fuckin' cold."
Not that it matters to Spike, but Sweeney can't help himself. He even grins a little, picturing Spike in some fuzzy fucking socks, trying to keep his toes warm out here on the balcony.
Could be that the shock hasn't worn off yet or it could be that he'd just gotten used to Laura Moon fucking his life up in one way or another, but whatever the case, once the sun has set over the city and night has fallen, Sweeney finds himself out on the balcony of the flat he shares with Spike. He has a bottle of beer in one hand, a cigarette smouldering in the other, and he's got his chair kicked back on its back legs, his boots propped up against the railing that keeps idiots from plummeting straight to the cement below.
He can't believe she's here. Can't believe she's alive. At least there's no risk of her trying to steal his coin back this time, because without it, he couldn't even be sitting like this. His chair would tip or the railing would loosen and he'd end up smashing his skull open on the sidewalk. But it's his again now and she doesn't need it.
Looking out over the city, Sweeney lifts the bottle of beer and takes a sip, then glances back over his shoulder when he hears the bedroom door open. Spike had helped him bury her not all that long ago. He knows who Laura is and what she's meant to Sweeney. He's shit at this part, but he can't just say nothing.
"Out here," he calls. "Put on some socks, it's getting fuckin' cold."
Not that it matters to Spike, but Sweeney can't help himself. He even grins a little, picturing Spike in some fuzzy fucking socks, trying to keep his toes warm out here on the balcony.
