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 finally caves and squints at the griffin from the corner of his eyes, making a twisted face and poking his tongue out at her playfully for lack of any better response to her weird unblinking surveillance. He has no idea the level of her intelligence, because she's a griffin. Maybe her brain is the size of a pistachio, Bart wouldn't know. Hm, now he's definitely imagining food though.
Pushing himself out of the chair and back to his feet, Bart ambles over to the counter with a tired gratitude to his expression as his hand unerringly finds the glass and begins to sip at it long before Sunjata's offer for an alternative comes about. Though he does snort at the comment on his brother's cooking; "Yeah, Nate's always been'a mother hen. I can cook too if ya need, least I can do when yer lettin' me stink up the place till he comes back." Or longer, because Bart admittedly never grew out of being a little leech, bumming around places and never planting roots. Though he might have to change tactics because he sure doesn't want to hear his brother banging his husband either. Sunjata doesn't seem like a screamer, at least. Okay, now Bart feels a little ill just imagining that. He swallows the rest of the rum to try and burn the imagery from his brain and laments not being able to dump it in his eyes.
"Nah, I'm not a picky drinker clearly," he rumbles a laugh as he sets down the now empty glass, fingers plucking a cigarette from the counter with a grateful hum as he lights it up and takes a deep drag. He tries not to smoke often - he's a nurse, knows what it can do - but fuck if the stress of the day doesn't warrant it.
Pushing himself out of the chair and back to his feet, Bart ambles over to the counter with a tired gratitude to his expression as his hand unerringly finds the glass and begins to sip at it long before Sunjata's offer for an alternative comes about. Though he does snort at the comment on his brother's cooking; "Yeah, Nate's always been'a mother hen. I can cook too if ya need, least I can do when yer lettin' me stink up the place till he comes back." Or longer, because Bart admittedly never grew out of being a little leech, bumming around places and never planting roots. Though he might have to change tactics because he sure doesn't want to hear his brother banging his husband either. Sunjata doesn't seem like a screamer, at least. Okay, now Bart feels a little ill just imagining that. He swallows the rest of the rum to try and burn the imagery from his brain and laments not being able to dump it in his eyes.
"Nah, I'm not a picky drinker clearly," he rumbles a laugh as he sets down the now empty glass, fingers plucking a cigarette from the counter with a grateful hum as he lights it up and takes a deep drag. He tries not to smoke often - he's a nurse, knows what it can do - but fuck if the stress of the day doesn't warrant it.
Feel the fear and swallow back the tears
let weakness disappear
let weakness disappear
BARTHOLOMEW
