He stops staring at his porridge like he expects it to start talking back to him, and spoons it into his mouth like a normal person.
"Could've used a pair of shoes while walking bare-ass naked through the woods," he muses aloud, then reaches for his own drink and lifts it up to take a swallow. It's not coffee, or tea, but some sort of hot spiced cider without any alcohol added to it, which is unfortunate. He'd kill for a shot of good whiskey.
(Would he? Is that how low the bar is now?)
That stray thought itching at the back of his mind tugs on his short temper. He sets his mug down a little more firmly than is necessary and looks not at Gabe, but adjacent to him. "Do you want something from me?" he demands in a tone of voice that would doubtless sound much more abrasive and off-putting if he weren't so damn tired (and only half convinced that all of this isn't some elaborate hallucination cooked up by his dying mind).
no subject
"Could've used a pair of shoes while walking bare-ass naked through the woods," he muses aloud, then reaches for his own drink and lifts it up to take a swallow. It's not coffee, or tea, but some sort of hot spiced cider without any alcohol added to it, which is unfortunate. He'd kill for a shot of good whiskey.
(Would he? Is that how low the bar is now?)
That stray thought itching at the back of his mind tugs on his short temper. He sets his mug down a little more firmly than is necessary and looks not at Gabe, but adjacent to him. "Do you want something from me?" he demands in a tone of voice that would doubtless sound much more abrasive and off-putting if he weren't so damn tired (and only half convinced that all of this isn't some elaborate hallucination cooked up by his dying mind).