Video

[anewlanguage]

You know, Dean? Dean, you might be right. Maybe half right.

[Some six hours after Barbara's post, Cain is completely stinking drunk. But he's also feeling more sociable, and between swigs or statements he hums a song, occasionally mumbling the lyrics.]

...Hit her foot against a splinter,
Fell into the foaming brine...

I'm not rethinking stopping being a pacifist, but I oughta say I'm feeling like doing target practice, and the boat's not real steady under my feet, you get what I mean. So hurry on down, clear out my gun cache.

Knives, too.

[He takes a healthy swallow from the bottle.]

dreadful sorry, Clementine...

[The feed cuts about halfway through that chorus

Comments

[anewlanguage]

No. [He eyes a gun, shakes his head]

That's right you wouldn't know wouldja, I was a pacifist when I came on board as an inmate. If I run out of alcohol maybe I'll stop being one, go back to busting heads for the 'good of the ship', but right now, fuck it all.

[surfaceshine]

Apparently not.

Is this your bullshit way of seeing if there's anyone that will stop you?

[anewlanguage]

Stop me from what? Punishing my liver? I don't care how drunk I am, someone tries to tell me what not to drink, I'm shooting to kill. ...Or maim.

[surfaceshine]

From killing someone, seeing as how you're throwing around all those threats.

[anewlanguage]

...Oh. [It's such a habit to threaten, to snap and snarl, when he's drunk.]

I might could kill the right person sure, but doubt it. Don't think he's even on the ship anymore. You drop by I promise: I won't shoot you. Good?

[surfaceshine]

Not me I'm worried about.

[Both grim certainty and a genuine lack of caring if he does get shot. As long as it kills him, he doesn't honestly give a shit.

But.]

I'm three doors down from you. Be there in a minute.