Now, see, the good thing about spring is that the roads are starting to clear. Which means that motorbikes are useable. Which means that Armand has been having way too much fun going too fast around corners because it's the closest he can get to running as a wolf
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Buuuut that isn't really unusual for the last little while.
But now that he and Claire have determined that they are not, in fact, going to go to war with each other, he can go back to brooding in his favorite shadowy corner in the Wasteland. Like he is now.
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Despite everything.
"Russ."
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And smiles, just a little.
"'Bout fucking time, gimp."
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"Well, if you wanted to play God earlier and made the roads clear of snow, all you had to do was actually do so."
And then he sits down in a chair because, really? Sitting is good. Standing? Not so much.
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He makes a face.
"Even if the rest of us have had to deal with that shit you call guitar-playing every fucking day."
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"I'm getting better. Just as Jay."
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"Journey's not what I'd call unbiased."
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"'S sad the way you have to prop up your musical ego like that."
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He stubs out his current cig, pulls out a pack and his lighter, and offers them to Armand before getting a fresh one.
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They probably aren't going to live long enough to worry about lung-cancer and all of that, and fuck if he doesn't need one.
"Thanks."
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"Anything interesting on the way over?"
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"I was meant to be paying attention?"
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