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

[spam]

[omar]

That depend on how much fire there be left, I suppose. And the terms of sale.

Re: [spam]

[anewlanguage]

Don't shoot Iris or Gordon--that's Barbara...

[He's drunk enough the words are heavy-then-soft-then-mumbled.]

[spam]

[omar]

A'ight. Wouldn't anyways.

[He knows who they both are, but they're both wardens -- not on his hit list.]

Re: [spam]

[anewlanguage]

[There was someone else, whose name he has trouble remembering so it might seem he's drifted off for a second or two.]

Or Tiffany. You met her? She's new--new since you were here I guess.

[spam]

[omar]

I knows her.

[Tiffany has a way of making herself known.]

Wasn't planning on putting her down, neither.

Re: [spam]

[anewlanguage]

Good. ... Good.

Put 'em to good use. Try to remember not to use 'em on me, next time our minds get fucked over, huh?

[spam]

[omar]

I suppose I'll do my best, assuming I have a mind to do it with.

[This is said rather sourly, although the feeling isn't directed at David. He can handle a lot about the Barge, but he hates not being in control of himself.]