[ At least makes the less desirable things a bit more palatable.
What's funny about that is he rarely ever does. Usually, he's disheveled, drunk, and looks ready to pass out asleep at any given moment. This place just dials that glamour up a bit. Shining, he is. ]
And here I didn't bring the right outfit for it. [ A rusty laugh. ] Guess this'll have to do.
[ He shifts one arm a bit more securely around his middle and gives himself a moment to close his eyes and take a breath. He's not sure what's worse, getting beat silly every other week or dying. On one hand, no death flu and assorted other ills. On the other, it sort of hurts just existing for the moment. ]
You're not going to get me home to change. [ it's a lame joke, but there's only straws to grasp at here. and crumbled concrete, splintered wood; a heaping mess.
Booker holds out the flask, for when John opens his eyes again. he knows that look, knows the utterly spent energy of someone in pain. has experienced it more intimately, here, but he wishes it didn't last so long, for everyone. ]
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[ booze makes everything a little bit easier, doesn't it?
John doesn't look great, but he's alive. the friendliness might be marred by exhaustion and pain, and Booker huffs lightly in amusement at his quip. ]
Just needs a bit of dusting, here and there. [ and a whole new frame, probably foundations too, just... all of it. ] We'll have it sorted in no time.
[ Booker takes a seat next to John, giving him a side glance, looking him over. Assessing. ]
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What's funny about that is he rarely ever does. Usually, he's disheveled, drunk, and looks ready to pass out asleep at any given moment. This place just dials that glamour up a bit. Shining, he is. ]
And here I didn't bring the right outfit for it. [ A rusty laugh. ] Guess this'll have to do.
[ He shifts one arm a bit more securely around his middle and gives himself a moment to close his eyes and take a breath. He's not sure what's worse, getting beat silly every other week or dying. On one hand, no death flu and assorted other ills. On the other, it sort of hurts just existing for the moment. ]
I bloody well hate this place sometimes.
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[ positively glowing. ]
You're not going to get me home to change. [ it's a lame joke, but there's only straws to grasp at here. and crumbled concrete, splintered wood; a heaping mess.
Booker holds out the flask, for when John opens his eyes again. he knows that look, knows the utterly spent energy of someone in pain. has experienced it more intimately, here, but he wishes it didn't last so long, for everyone. ]
Seems to go out of its way, to make us miserable.