Speed hadn't bothered to open the journal today. He figured he'd just catch-up on it tomorrow. Unfortunately for him that meant he didn't know about Henry's current state. Of course, he'd probably still have come over anyway.
He was dressed as normal--which was the way he dressed for work, however grief-ridden his boss(es) felt about that sometimes--which was simply a logo-ed shirt and jeans and shoes. Nothing fancy, definitely not a suit, and therefore to his boss(es) grief while on the field. Well, it could have been worse. He could have worn a regular T-shirt; they really hated it when he did that. Not that he was going to work or anything, he chided himself for such thoughts.
He walked up to the door labeled as Henry's room (Henry and Crowley's technically, he mentally reminded himself before shrugging it off) and paused to stare at the hallway for a second. He stood relaxed--cool and neutral. He knocked on the door and waited for the answer.
"It's o--" Henry started to shout, then cringed at the volume of his own voice.
How the hell was he going to sit through however many hours of explosions and gunshots on the television?
Hmm...worry about that later. Right now, guest.
He picked the icepack up off of his forehead, where he'd been letting it rest while his head was leaned back on the back of the couch, and staggered to his feet. Briefly he considered removing the sunglasses, as they weren't even his to begin with, then decided against it. Not only did the light in the room hurt like a sonofabitch when he took them off, but his eyes probably made him look like a drug addict right about now. No, they would stay on. At least for a little while longer.
Pepto in one hand and icepack under his arm, Henry meandered over to the door and pulled it open.
They'd never met before, in person, but who else would it be? Henry looked for a moment at the man in the doorway, then gestured for him to enter and stepped aside to let him in.
Speedle raised his hand towards the doorknob and stopped with it hovering an inch away. He frowned slightly. The invitation had been cut short. He paused for a second, listened and caught the sounds of approaching footsteps, and then let his hand fall back down to his side
( ... )
"I'll be fine," Henry said with a slight nod, waving his free hand dismissively. "I apparently just got a bit more trashed last night than I intended to. Nothing I haven't dealt with before."
It wasn't strictly true--he'd never quite been this bad before. There was no need to tell Speed that, though. Henry would feel like an ass if they ended up having to postpone their meeting again--on his account...again. And at least the stomachache had finally started to ease up, whether from the passage of time or the massive amount of Pepto Bismol he'd ingested. The headache, while not exactly a walk in the park, was still nothing compared to how bad his stomach had been
( ... )
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He was dressed as normal--which was the way he dressed for work, however grief-ridden his boss(es) felt about that sometimes--which was simply a logo-ed shirt and jeans and shoes. Nothing fancy, definitely not a suit, and therefore to his boss(es) grief while on the field. Well, it could have been worse. He could have worn a regular T-shirt; they really hated it when he did that. Not that he was going to work or anything, he chided himself for such thoughts.
He walked up to the door labeled as Henry's room (Henry and Crowley's technically, he mentally reminded himself before shrugging it off) and paused to stare at the hallway for a second. He stood relaxed--cool and neutral. He knocked on the door and waited for the answer.
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How the hell was he going to sit through however many hours of explosions and gunshots on the television?
Hmm...worry about that later. Right now, guest.
He picked the icepack up off of his forehead, where he'd been letting it rest while his head was leaned back on the back of the couch, and staggered to his feet. Briefly he considered removing the sunglasses, as they weren't even his to begin with, then decided against it. Not only did the light in the room hurt like a sonofabitch when he took them off, but his eyes probably made him look like a drug addict right about now. No, they would stay on. At least for a little while longer.
Pepto in one hand and icepack under his arm, Henry meandered over to the door and pulled it open.
They'd never met before, in person, but who else would it be? Henry looked for a moment at the man in the doorway, then gestured for him to enter and stepped aside to let him in.
"Speed, I presume?" he asked quietly.
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It wasn't strictly true--he'd never quite been this bad before. There was no need to tell Speed that, though. Henry would feel like an ass if they ended up having to postpone their meeting again--on his account...again. And at least the stomachache had finally started to ease up, whether from the passage of time or the massive amount of Pepto Bismol he'd ingested. The headache, while not exactly a walk in the park, was still nothing compared to how bad his stomach had been ( ... )
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