(no subject)
[Sam is sitting in one of the train's bars. And he's drinking. He's going through his second helping of Johnny Walker Blue. He never had the stuff in Rapture, but damn does it taste good. There's a bloody hole torn into the front of his shirt, right where his gut is, but the wound has since closed. It's angry and red, nonetheless. One of his hands is scratched up like some kind of cat's scratching post.
As he drinks, he's looking at a plush moogle that he's plopped onto the bar in front of him. One of its purple wings are missing, and its red pom-pom is bent. He'd found it on the floor in one of the dining cars that he'd walked through to get back to his favorite bar, and is now toasting it with another gulp of good ol' Johnny Walker. Feel free to come bug him. He could certainly use the company.]
As he drinks, he's looking at a plush moogle that he's plopped onto the bar in front of him. One of its purple wings are missing, and its red pom-pom is bent. He'd found it on the floor in one of the dining cars that he'd walked through to get back to his favorite bar, and is now toasting it with another gulp of good ol' Johnny Walker. Feel free to come bug him. He could certainly use the company.]