“Fuck you,” Silas mumbled around the end of a cigarette, no bite to the words as he lit it up and took a drag, settling in to listen to the back and forth bickering. The two of them, Brandon and Regan, were like watching a tennis match sometimes, the way their conversations seemed to go.
“Think you already bitched at us,” he interjected, exhaling and blowing smoke. He took the liberty of opening the bottle Brandon had brought with him once it was set on the table. Wasn’t that he didn’t want to get into the conversation about Mari and how she was doing, but he didn’t have anything to add to it. Not even an argument that Brandon’s sisters weren’t nags; the last time he’d tried to defend one of their actions had just barely avoided a starting a fight. He was getting at least a little smarter about when he should open his mouth.
He laughed under his breath when Regan demanded the bottle, and held it up for him to see. “He doesn’t have it, man. Snagged it while you weren’t looking.” Yeah, he could tell this was going to settle him down and clear his head as good as anything. If they were lucky, they’d be able to forget for a while that the world was as fucked as it was.
Of course, that’d probably go better if Regan just drop statements on them.
“She deserves one,” he said simply, taking another drag. Not that many people at Sing Sing had known Regan’s wife; just the Stone’s probably, but Reg deserved it for some closure. “I’m really sorry about that. What happened to her,” he added. He’d said it before, but it was just one of those things that felt right repeating.
“We’re gonna have a graveyard going soon,” he mumbled more quietly, mostly to himself.