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jason mraz

"No," Leslie replied, shrugging. "I worry about them, but they were annoying as ********. Jenny and Jess are smart. I didn't...I spent a lot of time out, or whatever. So I didn't know them much, you know? Not really a family, just a bunch of related people in the same house, and some of us helped each other out."

jason mraz

He nodded, but he couldn't quite relate. There was nobody left to think about back home, not even a sympathetic pet. His guitar, Barbara, was his only tie back home besides photos and memories, but she was a classy lady: she didn't bring up skeletons unless he started it.

"If they're made of the same tough piece of s**t you are and smarter? Yeah, I wouldn't worry."

i drunk i'm swear

Leslie snorted angrily, not bothering to move much-- except turning his head to bite Jack's hand sharply, not letting go.

"NMngno pckfng me upfp!"

(Translation: No one's going to pick me up!)

From there, he shoved himself upright, suddenly squinting and mad about stuff. Muttering, he sadly stared forlorn at his empty flask, and promptly went to strike up conversation with another vagrant around their age, about ten paces away. He traded a lighter and a fresh pack of cigarettes for a half full Smirnoff bottle. He came back to flop next to Jack, thrusting the bottle into his lap.

"S'n'point t'dr'nk'n if y'don't get drunk."

i drunk i'm swear

Leslie waved a hand disapprovingly, snorting. "N'uns drivin' anywh'r, retard." He melted bonelessly back against the brick, staring into the fire with a sudden, stricken melancholy.

It sobered him up enough to talk slower, to enunciate his words.

"Was jus'a routine trip," Leslie said, "check on a base. Go with a partner, cos things have been funny there, lately. There w's a secret phrase. All went wrong, went t's**t anyway. This red eye, this red eye thing. It's bad. s**t, it's bad. It's..." He sunk into his hood, where it cast a shadow over his eyes. "You want to win, Jack. It's anger 'n thirst 'n hunger, and it doesn't hit all 't once. So th'ones that don't got it are ********'..." Leslie gagged. "Meat. 'N you know what y'do with meat, don't you? Specially when y'r a rabid dog? 'n I was rabid, 'n I liked it."

Swaying, he pressed his clammy forehead against Jack's arm and shoulder, lost in thought. Back in Russia, weeks ago. "I wish I'd won, y'know? But I came out of it r'l fast, all th'time. And I regretted and ******** scared as ******** drunk meant he had no filter. It flew to the wind, like the ashes of his cigarette. "Of all th' things t'get me out, it was a Taym."

Not Taym. A Taym.

Leslie abruptly jabbed Jack in the side. "Did my ******** part. Chug. Should find'a warehouse 'n fight."

i drunk i'm swear

Leslie slumped back down, yawning once, much like a sleepy cat. "Yeepp. Wasn't s'pposed to say that, so. Don't say things." He patted Jack's back. "Less th'know th'better."

He knew, somewhere, that he probably shouldn't lean into the touch, because of some reason or another. But Leslie liked head pattings, and it had nothing to do with whoever was doing it.

"Doesn't really matter why I did it. But I did. Whatever, s**t. 'N Fffine, fiiinee. I like th'idea that you'd think I'd win." Leslie grinned smugly, but his eyes were out of focus enough that it looked a little bit goofy. "Who trounced you, buncha bitches?"

i drunk i'm swear

Loosing a good natured-- or, well, about half-good natured, half schadenfreude-- laugh, Leslie shook his head pityingly. "Not ever, y'disgusting green ********. 'Sides. Should just admit you suck," he offered, helpful. "S'ok to admit it."

i drunk i'm swear

God damn it, between Finn and Leslie, the joke was getting old. <******** you was supposed to be sacred and untouched. "I don't ********' suck," Jack snapped. "Girls ********' suck me, got it?"