(no subject)
When Hawkeye Pierce steps into the bar, wearing blood-spattered surgical scrubs, it's with the sort of posture that says that he's dragging himself along; that more than suggests that he has been on his feet for too long, and awake for even longer, and he was on his way to go die a slow death in the nearest available empty space.
Milliways doesn't garner even a twitch of surprise, or a stutter of a step; he just keeps walking, blinking in the light and stifling a yawn, and lies down on his back across the nearest unoccupied table, his legs dangling off the edge. He folds his hands across his stomach, and closes his eyes.
The couches are far away, the rooms are farther, and the Swamp is farthest of all, so if you don't mind, he's just going to sleep right here.
Milliways doesn't garner even a twitch of surprise, or a stutter of a step; he just keeps walking, blinking in the light and stifling a yawn, and lies down on his back across the nearest unoccupied table, his legs dangling off the edge. He folds his hands across his stomach, and closes his eyes.
The couches are far away, the rooms are farther, and the Swamp is farthest of all, so if you don't mind, he's just going to sleep right here.