C
Cynical
Guest
Original poster
Oh god. This was stupid. Very stupid. It shouldn't even be fucking snowing today, it's not winter anymore. Fuck. Fuck this.
Clearly, Edgar was not a happy camper. He had manged to lock himself away and hermit from this bullshit snow for the whole winter and now here he was stuck some, very out of season, snow. Not much, mind you, but enough to ruin his night. He just wanted a fucking cigarette.
Edgar sighed, wishing he had put on a coat over his turtle neck. Did he even have a coat anymore? Not likely, not that he thought about it. Not that it mattered as he was far enough from home that it was not worth lugging himself back without his smokes.
"Fucking hell..."
He breathed, pulling up the neck of his shirt. At least the cold weather made it so he could over his scars without earning any 'why are you wearing a long sleeved shirt it's hot as balls out' looks, and covered he was. Gloves pulled over the sleeves of turtle neck, pants tucked into proper boots.
Thank god he had no facial scars.
No, cigarettes. Enough of this side thought bullshit.
Conveniently, the dog he had just shuffled by reeked of smoke. Backpedaling some, Edgar stopped more or less in front of the other. Clearly unconformable, he spoke;
"You smoke?"
Clearly, Edgar was not a happy camper. He had manged to lock himself away and hermit from this bullshit snow for the whole winter and now here he was stuck some, very out of season, snow. Not much, mind you, but enough to ruin his night. He just wanted a fucking cigarette.
Edgar sighed, wishing he had put on a coat over his turtle neck. Did he even have a coat anymore? Not likely, not that he thought about it. Not that it mattered as he was far enough from home that it was not worth lugging himself back without his smokes.
"Fucking hell..."
He breathed, pulling up the neck of his shirt. At least the cold weather made it so he could over his scars without earning any 'why are you wearing a long sleeved shirt it's hot as balls out' looks, and covered he was. Gloves pulled over the sleeves of turtle neck, pants tucked into proper boots.
Thank god he had no facial scars.
No, cigarettes. Enough of this side thought bullshit.
Conveniently, the dog he had just shuffled by reeked of smoke. Backpedaling some, Edgar stopped more or less in front of the other. Clearly unconformable, he spoke;
"You smoke?"