(no subject)
After having spent much of last night aiding the search for Jon Snow, Sandor had slept most of the morning and woken late, and spent what remained of it in a groggy funk. Living in a hut was still strange, and he found himself restless with the unfamiliarity after a short time. He decided to go to the Compound and search out breakfast; it was an hour most people would usually consider lunchtime, but it was Sandor's first meal of the day and he was damn well going to call it breakfast if he wanted to.
In the kitchen he dug a few platefuls of things out of the icebox and set them out on the counter, grateful beyond belief that Del had taught him how to turn the stove on, because if he didn't get a cup of tea within the next ten minutes, his mood was going to get even uglier than it was already. He turned on the flame beneath the kettle and leaned back against the counter, his arms folded across his chest, watching the strange blue flame and waiting for the whistle.
[dated to noonish on saturday; fine time for anyone to bug him, but he might be more surly than usual.]
In the kitchen he dug a few platefuls of things out of the icebox and set them out on the counter, grateful beyond belief that Del had taught him how to turn the stove on, because if he didn't get a cup of tea within the next ten minutes, his mood was going to get even uglier than it was already. He turned on the flame beneath the kettle and leaned back against the counter, his arms folded across his chest, watching the strange blue flame and waiting for the whistle.
[dated to noonish on saturday; fine time for anyone to bug him, but he might be more surly than usual.]