Re: Apartment: Sam/Russ/Louis
Yeah, it looked like someone bright and happy had barfed up their idea of a woman's apartment, all fairy-lights and orange paint and the fucking cat had a house. Russ eyed the cat with trepidation, trusting things that slunk and clawed and had a mood that could turn on a dime about as much as he could throw them from chastised experience. He followed Sam in without hesitation because the coffee had been an opener to get gone and she hadn't taken it, which meant she wanted him present. Russ had given up trying to figure out the why; he did what he was fucking told with the sparrow-boned, adult version of Sam.
He heard Louis out. It was a lot of words and they came out like a man backed up into a corner with a knife blade out being forced to explain why he was there. Like pride and dignity were being fucked in the ass for having to say so, and he looked at Sam sideways, all calm and peace and no words at all which was a trap he'd fallen into so many times he could see her bait it over there with her cigarette. He shook out his own packet, yawning against too few hours asleep before waking again, and the cigarettes spilled out against the blunted ends of his fingers. Russ looked like maybe waking up fucked up in an alley was normal, mostly because it was.
"You want to call the cops?" he said, looking at Sam and then at Louis, "Or you gonna call Neil's people?" Because Neil's people encompassed fixers and doers and everyone in the room knew Gotham's cops were bought and paid for, out in public where no one cared. "He needs a fucking shower," he jerked his head at Louis, because he'd seen those feet and why the fuck Louis hadn't put shoes on, Russ didn't know. Maybe because he was in shock.
"It ain't your fault you got jumped," he said, as matter-of-fact about it as he hauled himself to his feet as the kettle squealed and began searching Sam's cupboards for cups without actually asking first.