Joey Alexander knows he is good (fornothing) wrote in rooms,
Re: Marvel: Rescuing the tiniest Alexander
Shane. [Joey repeated. Somehow he recalled through the haze of 40 ounces of cheap drink and the faded-out remnants of dissociative drugs that Sam had told him that Shane was back in town.] Shane? [And Joey squinted, head flopping back like he couldn't quite keep the weight of his skull steady on his neck. In the firelight, he thought okay, it sounded like Shane at least.] Why the... fuck... did you--
[The accusatory demands were slow in coming, and Joey wasn't quite sure where to start with all the things he wanted to say to Shane. Joey was pretty sure there'd been a list building over the last few years, but it was difficult to remember where to start. When Shane pointed him in the direction of Sam, there's your fucking sister, Joey closed one eye to try and focus through the distorted dark and trash-burn smoke. He didn't say anything, although he looked plenty uncertain and just a little sick when he slumped against Shane's arm, finding the twisted grip almost supportive. The kick to his bootheels propelled Joey forward a step, in whatever way Shane was guiding him.] Yeah, lets go, there's a... a-- [And he gestured vaguely to gift of a strawberry beer that sat beside the lawn chair as they made their way out from beneath the bridge.]