⟪ they're not names she's heard before, hoi and jefferson. 'course, she knows where the syrup is, she bought the stuff in variations, and she sets the bottle of it down in front of him, even though he's already chosen butter. seeing him eat, and eagerly so, is as much of a relief as she thought it'd be, and she's not about to waste time watching when she could instead make some more pancakes. looks like he needs them.
and it keeps her hands busy while she wonders if hoi and jefferson are out there somewhere, too. jefferson with his girlfriend and (what she suspects might be his own, enthusiastically-purchased) harry potter mugs – they make mugs, right – having coffee in the morning. hoi, elsewhere, turning over for an extra five minutes. better that way than to think of the alternative.
she knows she's being overly optimistic. he's talked of the desert, even if it hadn't been much. ⟫
Somehow the only stockings I can picture got holes where the toes should be.
I will have you know, Kurik was an expert tailor. We used to pay him with smokes for all obligatory uniform mending.
( something about being raised by his grandma. he wishes he'd paid more attention. if he'd known how much those men would come to mean to him, he'd have listened more and talked less in those early days. and now the door is closed, no going back. )
⟪ there's the 'was' again, right by the image of a guy who was, what? maybe twenty? calling sam 'crowe' and wrangling his entire hand in the gash of a uniform shirt, incredulous or amused, but with a cigarette between his lips for sure.
she wonders how many things sam sees on the day to day that remind him of those friends. ⟫
Oh, I never really smoked. Cherry cigarillos a couple times a year.
( he was a highschool athlete with scholarship prospects. somebody would've killed him. whether it was his parents, or bill and hers, or his coach remains to be seen. plenty of rangers smoked, but sam'd learned by then to value his lungs. which is probably a good thing, now that he's missing part of one. )
But they were good currency. Kinda like prison that way.
⟪ flora's never had the money to waste on cigarettes, and really... most else had felt like a slope to fall down on. hell knows she's not drinking anything at all these days for good reason. ⟫
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and it keeps her hands busy while she wonders if hoi and jefferson are out there somewhere, too. jefferson with his girlfriend and (what she suspects might be his own, enthusiastically-purchased) harry potter mugs – they make mugs, right – having coffee in the morning. hoi, elsewhere, turning over for an extra five minutes. better that way than to think of the alternative.
she knows she's being overly optimistic. he's talked of the desert, even if it hadn't been much. ⟫
Somehow the only stockings I can picture got holes where the toes should be.
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( something about being raised by his grandma. he wishes he'd paid more attention. if he'd known how much those men would come to mean to him, he'd have listened more and talked less in those early days. and now the door is closed, no going back. )
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she wonders how many things sam sees on the day to day that remind him of those friends. ⟫
Kinda hard to picture you with cigarettes.
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( he was a highschool athlete with scholarship prospects. somebody would've killed him. whether it was his parents, or bill and hers, or his coach remains to be seen. plenty of rangers smoked, but sam'd learned by then to value his lungs. which is probably a good thing, now that he's missing part of one. )
But they were good currency. Kinda like prison that way.
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Probably more brotherly than straight up cash.