12-11-2018, 04:14 AM
“Listen, kid.”
Kid had struck him as the right right word when they were standing outside. Here, face-to-face with a damp sofa between them, if he were forced to pick again, it probably would have been different. Something less neutral, something that aimed a faint taunt at the sculpted aspect of his face, the way he held himself. Lord Something. Little Lord Something. But nobody was making him pick again, and kid had fit itself nicely in his head, regardless of the fact that the age difference he thought he’d discerned before seemed less distinct now.
“You got what you wanted. You’re inside.” Pointed out because it was a favor Near had done him, and not for the pleasure of hearing him recite Twilight Zone opening monologues. He didn’t give a fuck about discussing nightmares with strangers. What he did find himself giving a fuck about (and not liking it) was the topic of what Courtland had ever had to say about him -- but he wasn’t going to give Courtland’s ghost the satisfaction of hearing him beg for more. He finished with his hair and crumpled the towel over his shoulder.
“You know what, how about a drink? To celebrate. Getting inside. You look like you could stand one. The Old Man --” had he mentioned he was Courtland Three? He must have; his visitor seemed to know it -- “liked his liquor, I guess.” Near with a half-empty bottled in his clenched hand. Genetics wins out. He went around the couch and submitted it to Jude for consideration. “Here.”
Kid had struck him as the right right word when they were standing outside. Here, face-to-face with a damp sofa between them, if he were forced to pick again, it probably would have been different. Something less neutral, something that aimed a faint taunt at the sculpted aspect of his face, the way he held himself. Lord Something. Little Lord Something. But nobody was making him pick again, and kid had fit itself nicely in his head, regardless of the fact that the age difference he thought he’d discerned before seemed less distinct now.
“You got what you wanted. You’re inside.” Pointed out because it was a favor Near had done him, and not for the pleasure of hearing him recite Twilight Zone opening monologues. He didn’t give a fuck about discussing nightmares with strangers. What he did find himself giving a fuck about (and not liking it) was the topic of what Courtland had ever had to say about him -- but he wasn’t going to give Courtland’s ghost the satisfaction of hearing him beg for more. He finished with his hair and crumpled the towel over his shoulder.
“You know what, how about a drink? To celebrate. Getting inside. You look like you could stand one. The Old Man --” had he mentioned he was Courtland Three? He must have; his visitor seemed to know it -- “liked his liquor, I guess.” Near with a half-empty bottled in his clenched hand. Genetics wins out. He went around the couch and submitted it to Jude for consideration. “Here.”