(Untitled)

[notashortbean]

One Ed in the bar, boots on the table and chair tilted slightly back. He is completely fucking bored, and there seems to be no cure for it.

Someone give him something to do? This is one genius you never want to leave to his own devices.

Comments

[notashortbean]

"Ky Kiske," Ed says, and tosses him a packet of painkiller, "Don't be self destructive in front of me, I can assure you I've done worse."

[notashortbean]

"Yeah, sure," Ed says. "But you can thank me by sitting down and spillin' whatever it is that's buggin' ya."

He pauses.

"Just so you know, I ain't the bar therapist. I just don't wanna see someone walking around like a cow shot them with lasers."

[notashortbean]

"They should learn, with all the tipping over people do to 'em."

...Ed is not, actually, drunk at all.

And that is the worrisome part.

[notashortbean]

"You've never lived in the country, have you? It's all anyone can do out there."

Either that or chop corn, and they all knew about those cornfields.

[notashortbean]

Is he really?

"Can't be the loss of trees that had you drinking, though."

Ky's name, after all, was not Tringham.

[notashortbean]

Ed shrugs. "Depends on if you wanna spill. I can offer other distractions, too."

That was not supposed to sound dirty.

[notashortbean]

"You'd think," Ed says, his voice a little flat. "At least you'd try. Some people don't."

Oh, are we thinking about anyone familiar.