Now I know there's no one I can trust - I used to think there was
you can tell me that I'm cutthroat but I think you've got your eyes closed
you can tell me that I'm cutthroat but I think you've got your eyes closed
Bart chokes a little on the whiskey as it goes down when Scarface mentions a daughter, and tries to pass it off as the normal burn of alcohol - not that that's any less embarrassing, he's certainly no lightweight. "'m sorry, did ya say daughter? Magic can knock dudes up here too?" The medical training inside him sounds like a dying car alarm at the mere prospect. The far quieter gay panic is staunchly ignored. "Wait, so I have a niece?" Pardon the delay on that realization considering the whole pregnant cisgender men thing. "And y'can't even cook fer her?" The hits keep coming and they don't stop coming and they don't stop coming -
Okay so clearly he has his work cut out for him trying to keep his brother-in-law and niece alive until Nate gets back from his little monsoon trip.
The question makes him pause, taking a long silent moment before grabbing for the bottle to top himself up. He hadn't been intending to do so, but the inquiry alone is enough to inspire him to pour another glass and down it right after. Bart hasn't even had a full day to come to terms with his own death and subsequent teleportation, but that's not going to stop him from running headfirst into the topic like a raging bull on steroids. "Well uh, got in a fight with th' old man. He broke a bottle on my face, cut me on accident." His hand trails up to touch the thick scar on his neck, swallows hard at the unfamiliar knot there and stares into the whiskey in the glass. "One moment I was bleedin' out on the rug, the next...rain." And a helluva lot of it.
Okay so clearly he has his work cut out for him trying to keep his brother-in-law and niece alive until Nate gets back from his little monsoon trip.
The question makes him pause, taking a long silent moment before grabbing for the bottle to top himself up. He hadn't been intending to do so, but the inquiry alone is enough to inspire him to pour another glass and down it right after. Bart hasn't even had a full day to come to terms with his own death and subsequent teleportation, but that's not going to stop him from running headfirst into the topic like a raging bull on steroids. "Well uh, got in a fight with th' old man. He broke a bottle on my face, cut me on accident." His hand trails up to touch the thick scar on his neck, swallows hard at the unfamiliar knot there and stares into the whiskey in the glass. "One moment I was bleedin' out on the rug, the next...rain." And a helluva lot of it.
Feel the fear and swallow back the tears
let weakness disappear
let weakness disappear
BARTHOLOMEW
