bartholomew
Sunjata comes his way, because he can't resist or feels the need to make amends, Bart isn't sure and doesn't care. The glower only increases with every step the Flood takes, giving the man one last warning of what he seeks to tangle with today. Not that he expects the man to take it. So when he's close enough, Bart cuts through any pretense of hellos with a twist of his lips and a white-knuckled grip on his bottle.
"Sure y'wanna do this here, man?" And though the registers of their voices are different, as he stands there in Nate's old jacket - a duplicate of the one his brother had never relinquished in his own timeline - Bart hopes to hell that it hurts Sunjata to even look at him, to hear his familiar accent. "Cuz I won't be mincin' words or hushin' myself just cuz we're at a party." He's far enough on the fringes to make being 'at' the party questionable, but shouting would still draw attention. Not that he's ever been the type to shout; more snide than loud, unwilling to follow in his father's footsteps.
"Sure y'wanna do this here, man?" And though the registers of their voices are different, as he stands there in Nate's old jacket - a duplicate of the one his brother had never relinquished in his own timeline - Bart hopes to hell that it hurts Sunjata to even look at him, to hear his familiar accent. "Cuz I won't be mincin' words or hushin' myself just cuz we're at a party." He's far enough on the fringes to make being 'at' the party questionable, but shouting would still draw attention. Not that he's ever been the type to shout; more snide than loud, unwilling to follow in his father's footsteps.
Wake up, or you'll wake up six feet down
nobody's got your back in this town
nobody's got your back in this town
