[Cain slept as lightly as he ever does, but sprawled out like he
hasn't a care in the world besides having a warm bedmate for the night.
When he wakes it's the same: aches and pains, but instant, almost paranoid
clarity.]
Haven't been correct in forty years. My shoulder's got a pain like it's
bein' scraped off with a knife, which ain't that far from the truth...
[He rubs the long scar on that same bad shoulder, but stops himself.
He had meant to say 'couldn't be better'. He had meant to follow it up with
something flirty.]
Re: [Saturday morning. Spam: it's what's for breakfast]
[Cain slept as lightly as he ever does, but sprawled out like he hasn't a care in the world besides having a warm bedmate for the night. When he wakes it's the same: aches and pains, but instant, almost paranoid clarity.]
Haven't been correct in forty years. My shoulder's got a pain like it's bein' scraped off with a knife, which ain't that far from the truth...
[He rubs the long scar on that same bad shoulder, but stops himself. He had meant to say 'couldn't be better'. He had meant to follow it up with something flirty.]