zephyr
The awkward leg-on-leg action goes largely unnoticed by you, though you certainly don't mind the moment when he's halfway in your lap. He's so small and sweet, delicate as a damn bird - you could probably scoop him up and carry him off if you wanted. You doubt he'd much complain.
There's a moment where you very much consider this course of action, but luckily Sam's line of questions pierces your hazy mind. "Nah, don'tcha worry- little kitty raaaan away. Not gonna bother us t'night, probably." You nod encouragingly and unsteadily at Sam, the pain of it filled by your copious alcohol intake. Gods, you gotta find some rum.
Poor Sam does not appear to be as amused by this situation as you are. In your unfortunate haze you wonder why, and then decide you have it figured out. The 'biter was his boyfriend, right? Or his ex-boyfriend's-new-boyfriend? Or one of the Voice's lackeys? You can't quite recall, but you do not need coherent thoughts to decide you're pretty sure you know what has Sam upset.
Reaching out with susprising gentleness given your current state, you attempt to take Sam's cheeks between your palms and tilt his face up to yours. "S'oksy, Red, y'don't gotta be scared. I'mma, I'mma take care'a ya. Protec' ya. An', an" I ain't gonna hurtcha. It let anyone else. Y'know all'a that, right?" There's surprising sincerity in your slurred voice, your one good eye peering at him seriously, the other swollen nearly shut in a truly grotesque display.
There's a moment where you very much consider this course of action, but luckily Sam's line of questions pierces your hazy mind. "Nah, don'tcha worry- little kitty raaaan away. Not gonna bother us t'night, probably." You nod encouragingly and unsteadily at Sam, the pain of it filled by your copious alcohol intake. Gods, you gotta find some rum.
Poor Sam does not appear to be as amused by this situation as you are. In your unfortunate haze you wonder why, and then decide you have it figured out. The 'biter was his boyfriend, right? Or his ex-boyfriend's-new-boyfriend? Or one of the Voice's lackeys? You can't quite recall, but you do not need coherent thoughts to decide you're pretty sure you know what has Sam upset.
Reaching out with susprising gentleness given your current state, you attempt to take Sam's cheeks between your palms and tilt his face up to yours. "S'oksy, Red, y'don't gotta be scared. I'mma, I'mma take care'a ya. Protec' ya. An', an" I ain't gonna hurtcha. It let anyone else. Y'know all'a that, right?" There's surprising sincerity in your slurred voice, your one good eye peering at him seriously, the other swollen nearly shut in a truly grotesque display.
burn all the things you have to burn
save all the people you're supposed to save
save all the people you're supposed to save
