I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art
"I'll drink to that," Jack muttered; at arm's length was best for everyone in his experience, Torchline or otherwise. They headed down towards the docks and the beach - conveniently where both the Ark and the Hanged Man were a stone's throw away. He snorted as she spoke about Saiden, the smuggler raising his eyebrows across at her as if to ask if she was serious. "The boy's a fuckin' bug up my ass," he said. "Decent cook, but why he can't just do his fuckin' job and get drunk with the rest is beyond me."
It wasn't, but Jack was equally suspicious of anyone who was trying to get cozy with him. "You told him right. An' I don't see him savin' my ass ay any point." He scoffed.
It wasn't, but Jack was equally suspicious of anyone who was trying to get cozy with him. "You told him right. An' I don't see him savin' my ass ay any point." He scoffed.
