Repose

[Sometime in the days after her failed transaction.]
[...]
Do either of you handle the ones that want to talk?

[He shaved, huh? First things first, he shaved. He took his electric razor and he got the stubble down to something manageable, something he could shave off regular, cream and metal glinting. It was a morning ritual he'd missed. He clipped somea his hair too, just to even it out, take out somea the curls that had sprung up in the last month, wily and wild and stubborn. And, at the enda all that, Cris was actually glad to see the face in the mirror, huh, when he looked up from the towel strung between palms. That face, it looked more like his, like the guy he thoughta as himself, clean, skin pink from the scraping and the aftershave stinging good. Like maybe his life wasn't falling apart, huh? It made him feel less like a slouch or a slob. Black hairs pricked his arms and the guy felt good. His promesa was done. Joey was doing good. Sam was doing better little by little, and he was gonna be seeing Teresita in a mattera hours.

Las cosas estaban mejorando.

The guy picked up La Caridad from the silla the sink and replaced her to her perch 'round his throat and heavy 'gainst his chest. He tucked her under his white shirt. He snatched up a ballcap, slapped it over damp hair, got onea his (dwindling) hoodies, and left the apartment, texting Lou as he walked.

It was overcast, kinda rainy as night came on to button light outta the sky, but the cold was a perfect caress, Cris thought. Wetness caught the billa his hat and he kinda just reveled in it brief. He didn't get many quiet moments to himself—or any quiet moments at all, and he was appreciative, huh? He was. He wished Sam was there in a fissurea feeling in his heart, but soon, huh? Soon.

Once he got to the Mean-Eyed Cat, the Sheriff found a stool at the bar to straddle. He gave all the familiar faces a nod or a wave or a smile, an insufficient offering for the bloodthirsty rumor mill, nothing with meat to it, but, truth was, he wouldn't mind if alla that got anemic, starved, and died. He got himself a beer as he waited on Lou and he watched a young guy try to catch the eye of a girl at the pool table with some chest puffing and preening. He snorted into his beer. He leaned (clean-shaven) cheek to his palm, enjoying the simple sensationa skin on skin, and he waited, patient for once. Or close enough.]

Who: Wren & Matt
What: A dual narrative thing
Where: Matt's place in the woods
When: Immediately after this
Warnings/Rating: Mentions of blood

( There, there, there... )

[public]

for the benefit of science: what was your best (worst) mistake? before you begin your clamoring, i entreat you to consider your very best of stories for the princely reward of one (1) drink courtesy of myself at the cat.