( he pulls the plate towards himself when she puts it down. normally he'd insist that they eat together once there's enough, but he really is famished and knows she won't mind. he leans across the island so he can grab cutlery out of the drawer, butter's already on the countertop in a little dish. syrup... shit. cupboard?
honestly he doesn't even care. butter's enough for now. he's slathering it up as he continues; )
Hoi was a fucking Buddhist, but he — you know, he always found a way to decorate for the rest of us. We used to do this thing with ammo boxes. They were already green, so... you know. A couple strands of lights from back home, some kitschy candy canes, Jefferson's fucking... Harry Potter scarf. Gaudiest thing I've ever seen, I think his girlfriend made it or something. But we made it work.
( he doesn't talk about his team. but he always does swear more when he mentions anything military. call it a tic. )
⟪ 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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( he pulls the plate towards himself when she puts it down. normally he'd insist that they eat together once there's enough, but he really is famished and knows she won't mind. he leans across the island so he can grab cutlery out of the drawer, butter's already on the countertop in a little dish. syrup... shit. cupboard?
honestly he doesn't even care. butter's enough for now. he's slathering it up as he continues; )
Hoi was a fucking Buddhist, but he — you know, he always found a way to decorate for the rest of us. We used to do this thing with ammo boxes. They were already green, so... you know. A couple strands of lights from back home, some kitschy candy canes, Jefferson's fucking... Harry Potter scarf. Gaudiest thing I've ever seen, I think his girlfriend made it or something. But we made it work.
( he doesn't talk about his team. but he always does swear more when he mentions anything military. call it a tic. )
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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.