InsaneJournal

Gambit certainly hadn't been lying about having a comfortable piece of furniture to stretch out on. With other places now to sleep, the red-head had been more-or-less left alone in the barn, and he'd kicked out the arms on two of those couches, pushed two of them front-to-front (the ones without arms), then had pushed a third one to the head of those two butted-up couches, to make a strange rectangle of sorts, which had three sides, and one place to crawl into the middle. He'd put the third couch there, of course, so his feet wouldn't hang off the end. That just wouldn't do at all. He'd braced two of the three couches against the walls of the barn (he'd pushed it into a corner, of course), and the third couch had another couch (the last one) pushed up against the back of it, so it wouldn't slide out and leave him on the floor in the middle of the night.

So it was no wonder that the Cajun had refused to leave his little sanctuary for the day. He'd just been happily lazing around on the couch, wishing for something other than sugar to eat. He'd talked to Dean just moments earlier, and was quite content knowing that he'd be eating real food sometime tomorrow. This morning, at least, the young man had gone further into town and had snatched himself a shower. Cold though it was-- he'd washed his jeans and socks while he was in the shower, but his trench coat had been ruined, along with his tank-top, so on the way back to the barn he'd made a quick detour into the Thrift store and had grabbed a few things. Like the button-up blue shirt he was wearing at present. There was a white undershirt beneath it, and he had it unbuttoned half way, with the sleeves rolled up to just over his elbows, exposing the gloves he wore religiously. They weren't long, stopping just before his wrist bone, at the end of his palm.

He was shoeless, but fresh socks (also from the thrift store) were happily on his feet. Having a shower and fresh clothes had done wonders for the Cajun. The replica Doctors Coat was hanging over the arm of the head couch, for his later use. Because yeah, it was his now. His. Back off, Doctor.

In fact, he'd been laying on his back there, a pillow tucked under his head (also thanks to the thrift store.. he'd found a pillow case, but no pillows.. so he'd torn open some stuffed animals and stuffed the case full, then tied it off - he hadn't made two, unfortunately.), but when he heard footsteps, he was sitting up and turning his eyes towards the entrance of the dimly lit barn. All he had for light was the moonlight coming in through the windows. It was enough for him, really.. he had pretty good eyes, in the dark.

"'Dat you, Chere?" Prompted into the darkness around him.