03-31-2022, 08:32 AM
Chris admired the bent cigarette like an artist his sculpture. Was destruction not an art itself?
Everything the orphan did seemed to please Chris in a morbid, patronizing way. What a cellar dwelling creature. Using his own tongue to put out a fire. Every part of him was expendable: his tongue, his collar, his wretched little homeland. Why else did his keeper send him off to a priesthood? Clearly not because he was useful in any way. No, no.
Like Jesus Christ, the best thing this wiry pest could do is get nailed to a cross. Bled for his wine, and peeled for his communion flesh. ‘Til then, he could keep lighting Chris’ cigars. Lighting his cigars and humming his misery. Oh, sweet misery. Chris smiled without a care in the world.
Then wrinkled his nose when he watched the desperation that this poor, grieving orphan sucked on his own smoke with. Pitiful. He sucked that thing like a greedy little whore, but he had already aged past his prime. That, finally, brought a strange, contemptuous pull of his lips back, like he was witnessing his mother’s newest pet soil the rug. He let out another held puff of smoke, watching the incoherent shapes before him.
“What a shame,” Chris said, tapping off his cigar and letting it hang, burning.
Wouldn’t it be bragging rights to smoke a mummy? Oh, look. The bastard was shielding him from the wind. He supposed if he served as a curtain, he could have some dregs of good tobacco. Chris took another puff, smugly amused anew.
He chuckled and shook his head at the orphan’s interrogation inquiry. He could neither imagine Mrs. Brennan losing the beauty sleep, nor Levi being alert enough to perk up to the passing of time if it meant not money.
“Zack is such a suck-up,” Chris commiserated. “Someone told him Levi hid diamonds up his arse, and I’m fairly sure he’s in there checking.”
Then, Chris actually looked him in the eyes. Searching. What was this little vermin missing in his life, other than the lovely inheritance likely headed his way? He was out here, alone, talking to Chris. He clearly liked him as well as Chris liked him, and yet he still chose to smoke with company. This time, Chris made the laborious decision to turn his head and exhale his smoke off to the side.
“Your … mother, and brother, have enough people looking out for them,” he pointed out. “Who’s looking out for you?”
Everything the orphan did seemed to please Chris in a morbid, patronizing way. What a cellar dwelling creature. Using his own tongue to put out a fire. Every part of him was expendable: his tongue, his collar, his wretched little homeland. Why else did his keeper send him off to a priesthood? Clearly not because he was useful in any way. No, no.
Like Jesus Christ, the best thing this wiry pest could do is get nailed to a cross. Bled for his wine, and peeled for his communion flesh. ‘Til then, he could keep lighting Chris’ cigars. Lighting his cigars and humming his misery. Oh, sweet misery. Chris smiled without a care in the world.
Then wrinkled his nose when he watched the desperation that this poor, grieving orphan sucked on his own smoke with. Pitiful. He sucked that thing like a greedy little whore, but he had already aged past his prime. That, finally, brought a strange, contemptuous pull of his lips back, like he was witnessing his mother’s newest pet soil the rug. He let out another held puff of smoke, watching the incoherent shapes before him.
“What a shame,” Chris said, tapping off his cigar and letting it hang, burning.
Wouldn’t it be bragging rights to smoke a mummy? Oh, look. The bastard was shielding him from the wind. He supposed if he served as a curtain, he could have some dregs of good tobacco. Chris took another puff, smugly amused anew.
He chuckled and shook his head at the orphan’s interrogation inquiry. He could neither imagine Mrs. Brennan losing the beauty sleep, nor Levi being alert enough to perk up to the passing of time if it meant not money.
“Zack is such a suck-up,” Chris commiserated. “Someone told him Levi hid diamonds up his arse, and I’m fairly sure he’s in there checking.”
Then, Chris actually looked him in the eyes. Searching. What was this little vermin missing in his life, other than the lovely inheritance likely headed his way? He was out here, alone, talking to Chris. He clearly liked him as well as Chris liked him, and yet he still chose to smoke with company. This time, Chris made the laborious decision to turn his head and exhale his smoke off to the side.
“Your … mother, and brother, have enough people looking out for them,” he pointed out. “Who’s looking out for you?”
