[She can keep the bosoms, James' preference stray quite a distance from that proclivity. But he lifts one shoulder in an absent shrug, and takes another shot of his drink. Getting him true and proper drunk would require more than what's served here. What's on the other side, for him? There is a betrayer's fate set to befall him, a sword of Damocles above his head. Each pendulum swing is a heartbeat before he feels it at his throat.
Yet even monsters dream. What difference does it make, to tell it to a half-drunk girl in a tavern so far and away from everything he knows?]
A farm. A place to work the earth. [It would be nice to have dirt instead of blood beneath his nails.] Cattle, crops. What about you?
no subject
Yet even monsters dream. What difference does it make, to tell it to a half-drunk girl in a tavern so far and away from everything he knows?]
A farm. A place to work the earth. [It would be nice to have dirt instead of blood beneath his nails.] Cattle, crops. What about you?