(no subject)
WHO: Axel acidcut and Roxas bitchykid
Where: Axel's apartment.
DATE: 29th November 1935 (Backdated).
WARNINGS: None.
SUMMARY: Roxas wants to check up on Axel's stitches, Axel wants to ask some questions.
STATUS: CLOSED/INCOMPLETE.
Thanksgiving at the soup kitchen had involved cooking up hundreds of plates of the same Thanksgiving dinner. I could've ducked out of it, of course, but I didn't have anything better to do, and I was more used to huge amounts of people at holidays than sitting home alone. There'd been a ton of work to it, more than just cooking soup, and the clean up had been even worse. I was used to heavy work but getting home in the late morning and I was feeling it. Sleep didn't ease it much, even though I got a few more hours than I would've done normally.
Short days and most of it was gone. I thought about heading out, finding a bar or a card table. Maybe going to one of the warehouses if I was bored enough. Or maybe I'd just stay in with a bottle of bourbon. I lit a cigarette and pushed open the fire escape window, leant out. Stitches still in my arm pulling a bit, and I grimaced, rubbed over the bandage covering them.
Chill winter night, but I never felt the cold too bad.
Where: Axel's apartment.
DATE: 29th November 1935 (Backdated).
WARNINGS: None.
SUMMARY: Roxas wants to check up on Axel's stitches, Axel wants to ask some questions.
STATUS: CLOSED/INCOMPLETE.
Thanksgiving at the soup kitchen had involved cooking up hundreds of plates of the same Thanksgiving dinner. I could've ducked out of it, of course, but I didn't have anything better to do, and I was more used to huge amounts of people at holidays than sitting home alone. There'd been a ton of work to it, more than just cooking soup, and the clean up had been even worse. I was used to heavy work but getting home in the late morning and I was feeling it. Sleep didn't ease it much, even though I got a few more hours than I would've done normally.
Short days and most of it was gone. I thought about heading out, finding a bar or a card table. Maybe going to one of the warehouses if I was bored enough. Or maybe I'd just stay in with a bottle of bourbon. I lit a cigarette and pushed open the fire escape window, leant out. Stitches still in my arm pulling a bit, and I grimaced, rubbed over the bandage covering them.
Chill winter night, but I never felt the cold too bad.