jude. (thefixer) wrote in repose, @ 2016-06-09 10:14:00 |
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Entry tags: | *log, jude coleman, seven morgan |
seven + jude: late
Who: Seven + Jude
When: Aftermath of the Facility stuff
Warnings: TBD.
The thing of it was, people didn't stop drinking. The cops were down one in particular, but they were still a blue wave each night, perfectly companionable sorts and never beligerent drunks, hello convenience of having long arm of the law knocking back a few and playing pool in your bar. But they came even when the schedule was long-past useless, Matt and Cat a grave-and-favor notion rather than real impetus and back-up. MJ was a treasure, but Jude carefully kept counsel on where esteemed leader had disappeared to because all quiet on the western front was not by definition, good news. But Cat was reinstalled, in name if not in practice and Jude had visions of lengthy sleep and Hemmingway within fingers-stretch. Except that the nights had been a tad full since skidding in on gore to pry his brother out from behind the counter, pearled oyster obstinate in the heart of trauma. Not that Jude had anything to fret over, it hadn't been him, and his fingerprints weren't lodged somewhere on a system that could be cross-checked against (thank you, all praises to saints with ears the world over).
But blood, coppery-ripe in the nose and throat was uncomfortable vision that circled back once and again when he stretched out late nights, and it was easier all the while to just prop up the day on good coffee and lurking in Oliver's vicinity to draw on and invest in what sunshine boy's own brother could generate. Oliver was for Jude heartsick-worry and anxious expectation of it all going south, and Oliver was mystery unto himself and when their awakeness trammeled over each other, Jude preferred sitting with tea in hand and the smell of turpentine in his nose rather than throttled sleep and the knotted sheets around his hips as he chased it down to unsatisfying end.
So no, time off for good behavior and Jude didn't want sanctuary in solitude for just now. His people were all jostled and shaken, cracks in porcelain and wasn't it selfishness plain and proper to want to hide from all demands of good company? Daniel was the sourest of distractions, most likely to give not at all what ran through Jude's life like blood through veins, because Daniel was inward instead of outward and that was plainly for the best just then. But Daniel was scratchy and difficult company, and company was desirable just then.
So, for Seven and undemanding company. Jude had deep doubts he could provide services due in return; he wore sleeplessness knotted around his throat, settled against his breastbone, but easier to cry off physicality than to go digging about for emotional resources when the stores were empty. Guilty thoughts of Sasha aside, Jude headed for the house nestled deep off beaten track after trading dirty shirt for clean and showering away the last of the evening, damp haired and dark eyed. P'raps the deeply undemanding would drain away the last of tightly-trammeled tension, but he turned up empty handed, the requisite book crammed under one arm and without the car. Oliver with a kiss and an 'out late', vague as anything, but an apologetic squeeze.