Hemingway. (ernestoic) wrote in spinningcompass, @ 2016-08-14 21:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | ~abigail knightly, ~ernest hemingway |
Who? Ernest & Abi
Where? Their apartment
When? After he spoke to Jack
What? Guns and stuff
Rating? Hmm...?
Open? No
Ernest didn't know why he was so upset. He'd wanted his gun back, and he had his gun back. That had been the ultimate goal, after all. Mission accomplished.
He hadn't expected it to be so easy. He'd hardly put up a fight at all, and Jack had just crumbled like he didn't even care. He'd tried for all of two sentences before giving up and telling him to do what he wanted. As much as Ernest hated being treated like a crazy person, he couldn't help but feel strangely let down. Jack hadn't checked with his doctor. He hadn't asked to speak to Abi. He hadn't offered to go hunting with him, or even waited on an answer as to what it was he actually planned on using the gun for.
Hemingway had genuinely had no intentions beyond shooting ducks and other birds for the sport of it and possibly for whoever wanted to cook it. But did Jack really know that? Maybe he was being a baby about it. He was a grown man who could take care of himself without requiring his son to babysit him. He shouldn't be hurt. It wasn't his kid's responsibility in any way.
Still, baby or not, he'd barely spoken to Jack when he went to get the gun from him. Nothing beyond a terse 'thank you for looking after it' as he was granted access once more, and if Jack had tried to make amends and speak to him about it, it was too late. Ernest was done listening. He took the weapon, and although he'd never really intended on taking it home, he did. He didn't know where else to go.
In fact, he'd practically stormed on in like a bull through the apartment and into his little sanctuary, where the unloaded firearm was dumped onto the desk unceremoniously as Hemingway slumped into a chair, deflated and pissed off. He pulled a bottle of whiskey he'd nearly forgotten about from his desk, and took a large, burning swallow of the stuff he'd barely been touching lately.