Re: Tandy/Billy/Atticus: the lake
There was a chance he'd been overly ambitious in trying to keep the influx of nicotine going while also cramming down the heavenly combination of dough, cheese, and melt-in-your-mouth lobster. And while Billy could acknowledge that he had been stubborn perhaps once or twice in his life, food trumped the smoking hands down. The cigarette had been as much to calm his nerves as anything else this time, walking that weird razor’s edge between satisfying the craving and keeping his hands from shaking when one became five in steady succession. So the smoke could go, for now -- with the plate on his legs, his hands were free to stub the ember out against the sole of one shoe and slide the pack free from his pocket. Extinguished, he tucked the butt away to toss later. Somewhere that wouldn’t earn him, like, serious Mother Earth guilt-vibes that felt suspiciously like Destiny giving him cut eye when he imagined the feeling.
“He is,” he agreed after swallowing his mouthful, nodding and glancing over at Atticus where he stood at the wheel. “Nice. Super generous, gave me a place to stay, like, three different times and didn’t even make it feel like charity.” He paused and took another couple bites of pizza. Had a second where he regretted not grabbing a Coke from the cooler, and then with a minute twitch of his index finger he was suddenly holding one in his left hand, condensation slick against his skin. He popped the top and took a swig, and when he spoke again it was with a volume raised enough so that his words would carry to Atticus.
“Age is relative. I met him when he was, what -” he tipped his chin in Atticus’s direction, with the teasing curl of a smirk that made his cheek dimple. “Fifty-something? And if you ever catch him in a grouchy mood, he’s like a septuagenarian who missed his midday siesta.”