InsaneJournal

When he first returned from the other, more fucked up version of Vegas, he never made it past the door of his suite on the twenty-ninth floor. Seeing only his name on the plaque confirmed what he'd already realized from a continued absence of her name on his phone's list of contacts - Laura wasn't here, either. Even four thousand years of life hadn't taught him to replace his go-to coping mechanisms of violence and alcohol. All that built up frustration, anger, confusion, and remorse needed to be bled out and the hollows left behind were replaced with a rush of adrenaline and a flood of whiskey as needed. If there was one thing Mad Sweeney knew how to do it was move forward. In his own way, anyway.

The thick, blackened scabs on his abused knuckles split in places they'd only just begun to heal when he clasped the door handle and entered the empty suite he'd been avoiding since his return. He heeled the door shut behind him and briefly considered heading straight for the shower but he made way for the couch instead after only a moment's hesitation. The couch could bear his weight far better than the dilapidated furniture in New Vegas could but a loud crack still indicated that something apparently inconsequential had broken thanks to the carelessly heavy way he decided to take a seat. Fuck if he cared, burnt out as he was.

On the table next to his long forgotten laptop was a cellphone just like the one he'd lost at some point in the last week, a little green light blinking with notifications unchecked. He made no move to grab it at first, scratching instead at his scabbing scalp. It wasn't so easy to do, buried beneath his darkened red hair, thickly matted with blood from his recent altercations and grease from his many skipped showers. His gaze landed back upon the phone soon enough and he stared it down for a beat, considering the energy he'd need to expel in order to lean forward as well as how much he really gave a shit about what the vast majority those who still remained were up to. With a sigh reeking even to him of alcohol and neglected dental hygeine, he snatched the phone from the table. What else was there to do, really?