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lastvoyages
[If I don't have an active post up, feel free to use this post to have your character call, videochat, text, or knock on Tiffany's door.]
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"You're not wrong," Harry says, but he's halfway through his life and the idea of rebuilding from scratch feels...
Daunting. But, he realises with a jolt, not unattractive. He gulps another mouthful of Tiffany's liquid horror.
"You know what the only thing I ever wanted was? I wanted to be the guv'nor. I wanted people to look at me and know I could give 'em what they wanted. I wanted some respect for that. Not to be some fucking - bottom feeder, scraping up what the Twins and their ilk didn't have the time for."
He shuts his eyes.
"I ever tell you about Bernie?"
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"Never did. Not really," Harry sighs. "I know where, don't know who. But it was - might as well have done it myself. I sent him there, like he was fucking - "
He sighs heavily.
"Disposable."
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"Yeah, means I got some poor lad sent into that viper's nest and didn't give a fuck about him until I got told he'd..."
He drags a hand over his face.
"I look after my girls, at the Stardust," he says, quietly. "National Insurance, Equity cards, all that. No funny business. Bernie and the likes of him...I should've looked after him too."
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"I don't know why I hurt them. My boys. Pietro. Never helped anything. None of it ever helped."
Harry stares at the ceiling through a haze of cigarette smoke, eyes melancholy and glassy. He doesn't answer the question.
"I want to go home, warder. Some other London I ain't ruined yet. I want to start again."
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"I would," he says solemnly, and with another shot of liquor. "I'm not starting over in any bugger's debt."
Tiffany's deal doesn't count.
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"I bet."
He sets the glass down heavily.
"Christ, I feel like I've been hit by a train."
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"You ever think that maybe you're going to graduate soon?"
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"Love, right now, I'll be lucky if I don't have an aneurysm. You mind if I shut my eyes for five minutes?"
It's going to happen anyway.
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"You're a gem. Putting up with the useless likes of me."
He falls off her Item some time between closing his eyes and falling asleep. She should probably put out his cigarette, too.
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When she notices that he's gone from her item, she resists the urge to wake him up and tell him immediately, though it's hard. When he wakes on his own, she'll still be there, curled up on the other end of the couch with a book that she's not really reading. It may or may not be obvious that something is up, based on the way she's hiding a grin and trying not to wiggle around like an excited puppy.
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It's only because the sofa is intensely uncomfortable that he ends up dozing for half an hour and not out cold for the whole night. When he blinks, his eyelids feel heavy and his mouth is dry.
"Jesus," he croaks. Either this is the fastest-onset hangover he's ever experienced, or this is just how Tiffany's moonshine makes people feel before they sober up.
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Sorry, Tiffany, his brain is still half-pickled.
"You what?"
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"Fuck me."
He blinks, heavily, and runs his hands over his face.
"You're serious?"
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He's never actually seen his impression on her Item, but when he looks at it he can understand what she's getting at. He slumps back into his dent in the sofa.
"Should've tried your moonshine a long time ago."
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"What do you think you're gonna do now?"
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