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In The Barn
Jun. 19th, 2012 09:51 pmThe barn ain't so bad, as far as barns go, and Jack's bedded down in worse.
(That goddam cat piss-soaked pup tent up on Brokeback springs to mind.)
It smells of homey things: hay, leather, oil, oats and alfalfa, manure. Nope, not bad, whether there's a cot to bed down in or not, and once William's gone, he goes ahead and sees to the horses, making sure they've got feed and water, checking over their tack with nimble, practiced fingers under the light of a swinging, flickering lamp.
That done, he settles down against a bale of hay and makes himself comfortable, the heel of his worn boot scraping across the floor as his leg relaxes. From a pocket, he produces a flask, unscrews the top while those lazy blue eyes of his watch his new acquaintance with more interest than his relaxed posture might let on.
Before he takes a swig, he holds the flask up, eyebrows lifted questioningly, offering.
(That goddam cat piss-soaked pup tent up on Brokeback springs to mind.)
It smells of homey things: hay, leather, oil, oats and alfalfa, manure. Nope, not bad, whether there's a cot to bed down in or not, and once William's gone, he goes ahead and sees to the horses, making sure they've got feed and water, checking over their tack with nimble, practiced fingers under the light of a swinging, flickering lamp.
That done, he settles down against a bale of hay and makes himself comfortable, the heel of his worn boot scraping across the floor as his leg relaxes. From a pocket, he produces a flask, unscrews the top while those lazy blue eyes of his watch his new acquaintance with more interest than his relaxed posture might let on.
Before he takes a swig, he holds the flask up, eyebrows lifted questioningly, offering.
