(no subject)
Though it had been his for several months, the hut was still something of an oddity to Sandor. It had taken far less time than he'd expected for him to get used to waking up with a roof over his head, but the space was strange; namely, trying to figure out what in hells he was supposed to do with it. But if the inside had baffled him, the front yard, at least, was comfortable. The drying rack, the pile of firewood, Stranger standing calmly beneath a tree, and the chair Bert had made him was a good place to sit with his dog at his feet and enjoy a smoke on a quiet afternoon.
At least, it was quiet until the distant strains of a voice raised in song started to get louder as the singer neared New Gilead. It wasn't a song Sandor knew; that didn't stop it from being annoying. "Galileo! Galileo! Galileo Figaro! Magnificoooooooooohhhhh..." It seemed to lend itself to being sung exuberantly, too; lucky him. "HE'S JUST A POOR BOY FROM A POOR FAMILY!" Bert shouted as he came round the bend in the path, and Sandor rested his pipe on his knee and gave his friend his best skeptical eyebrow.
"I thought you were Bateman," he said with a smirk. "He's the only one I know who can kill a man at fifty yards off just by singing at him."
At least, it was quiet until the distant strains of a voice raised in song started to get louder as the singer neared New Gilead. It wasn't a song Sandor knew; that didn't stop it from being annoying. "Galileo! Galileo! Galileo Figaro! Magnificoooooooooohhhhh..." It seemed to lend itself to being sung exuberantly, too; lucky him. "HE'S JUST A POOR BOY FROM A POOR FAMILY!" Bert shouted as he came round the bend in the path, and Sandor rested his pipe on his knee and gave his friend his best skeptical eyebrow.
"I thought you were Bateman," he said with a smirk. "He's the only one I know who can kill a man at fifty yards off just by singing at him."