[Those straps falling down his shoulders to hang at his sides...Freddy sets his drink down to unhook the ends for him. He says no words regarding his action, to say anything might make him think logically instead of instinctively. His body says to get a move on, don't think, just do. The kid folds the suspenders then drapes them over the back of the couch.]
And take your hits when you gotta, nobody comes out spotless, squeaky fuckin' clean.
[Least of all Orange himself. In doing that to White he may or may not have also casually checked the guy for concealed weaponry.]
no subject
And take your hits when you gotta, nobody comes out spotless, squeaky fuckin' clean.
[Least of all Orange himself. In doing that to White he may or may not have also casually checked the guy for concealed weaponry.]