Roman is dressed for the most part. One sock is still on. The other foot is bare. God knows why. God knows why he went to the bottle and the merriment like he was fourteen. Movement and sound makes him groan like a wounded animal. He throws an arm up over his face.
His sleeve flaps but then settles partly on Peter's head. It smells like perfume. There's a soft body near by. He can feel it more so than see it. Lydia. Yes. That's right. That explains the sweet smell.
"No loud noises," he says finally.
Coffee would be good. And a fine white line. That all requires moving. Not just yet. Staying here in a wrecked tableau is a better idea. Far more comfortable and less complicated.
no subject
His sleeve flaps but then settles partly on Peter's head. It smells like perfume. There's a soft body near by. He can feel it more so than see it. Lydia. Yes. That's right. That explains the sweet smell.
"No loud noises," he says finally.
Coffee would be good. And a fine white line. That all requires moving. Not just yet. Staying here in a wrecked tableau is a better idea. Far more comfortable and less complicated.