[ Thomas was trying to sleep. He'd even been managing it, in gin-assisted fits and starts, each groggy swim back up to consciousness met with a hard pull from the mouth of the frigid bottle.
When the cacophony drags him back to awareness, Thomas lies still in his nest of soaked sheets on his stolen bed and wishes, very earnestly, for whoever is the owner of the appalling voice to be mauled by wolves as swiftly as possible. When that deliverance fails to manifest, he drags himself upright and begins the arduous process of struggling into his clothes.
It's not much longer after that before a hunched over man emerges from a house down the street from the square. He weaves a more or less direct route towards March with his bulky winter coat unzipped over his sodden undershirt, his eyes bright and burning in his pale, furious face.
When he sees the contents of March's hand and the state of his dress Thomas slows, early fury overtaken by greater exasperation. The headache he's been nursing for the better part of two days throbs against his skull. His tongue is a fat, woollen thing as he tries to loosen it for speech. ]
Be quiet. [ He manages, in a burst of juniper and alcohol. ] You great, bawling lunatic.
hot mess express (2 am) | cw: alcohol abuse, opiate withdrawal
When the cacophony drags him back to awareness, Thomas lies still in his nest of soaked sheets on his stolen bed and wishes, very earnestly, for whoever is the owner of the appalling voice to be mauled by wolves as swiftly as possible. When that deliverance fails to manifest, he drags himself upright and begins the arduous process of struggling into his clothes.
It's not much longer after that before a hunched over man emerges from a house down the street from the square. He weaves a more or less direct route towards March with his bulky winter coat unzipped over his sodden undershirt, his eyes bright and burning in his pale, furious face.
When he sees the contents of March's hand and the state of his dress Thomas slows, early fury overtaken by greater exasperation. The headache he's been nursing for the better part of two days throbs against his skull. His tongue is a fat, woollen thing as he tries to loosen it for speech. ]
Be quiet. [ He manages, in a burst of juniper and alcohol. ] You great, bawling lunatic.