Sid S can't promise not to (renage) wrote in repose,
Re: [Log: Dahlia/Sid]
Town was quiet. But it was positively brimming with sophisticated shit comparatively, which was all in the eye in the beholder and where you parked your truck. Sid had seen a lot of dead spots. (Figuratively and literally). This place had a coffee stop open late and a bookstore and both those were way over in the positive column, even in a snowstorm late at night. She'd been places they noticed a newcomer and branded them a newcomer from the day they entered town to the day they got pitched into a plot in the town cemetery (and that grave was gonna be known as the interloper's place no matter if they married in to town legacy). Repose? Repose gave you a little breathing room. One button undone on a shirt that fit too tight through the neck and shoulders, maybe.
And yeah, okay. Candle-light was all about the power out. "Resourceful," Sid said in a voice brimming with laughter as the dog's tongue laved over her knuckles. Never had a dog. Never had a pet, it came with the lessons about killing. Grow up with a dog, kill the dog, it was a life lesson you were real glad you'd skipped out on. This creature was dumb enough to lick a stranger but it was kind, in the dumb, honest way of critters that didn't have a metaphysical stop-start once a month. Sid fondled his ears, withdrew her hand and wiped it on the back of her thigh. Because give the dog credit, Hiro - warm welcome that it was - she hadn't come to drink with a dog.
The coat slid with a heavy sound to the floor. Sid liked the coat, but that didn't mean she took care of the coat. She put a palm to the nearest surface to steady her balance on the bum leg to toe off the boot on the steady one. Yeah, she remembered the sound of Dahlia's voice laced with whatever it was getting passed around in a glass or a bottle or a hip-flask. Sid didn't draw a whole lot of conclusions from it, fact was they were old and it was cold and drinking in the dark had something up on just sitting around in the dark. There was a lot to go pulling conclusions out of her ass on. Ink, short hair, the tumbler turned over on the table.
She reached for the glass, warm fingers - warm heart, or was it cold, the way that ditty turned in on itself? - and she took the cigarette too, straight out of Dahl's fingers, grinned and sat. Occupied, with glass and cigarette she couldn't cocoon in the body-warm blanket, so she sat hip to hip. Absorbed body warmth from the live body instead of the twisted-up blanket.
"Me, trouble? Nah. I've been on one of those - what's the word for those things with Mormons? Missions. Good as fucking gold. You on the other hand," Sid drew on the cigarette, handed it back and slugged the whiskey on the exhale, "Made a place for yourself. You get all law-abiding when you got old?"