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[thereneverwas]

[For correspondence, private scenes, and anthrax.]

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[thereneverwas]

“Imagine,” Barrow grunts, offering no further commentary on Lazar’s relationship (he has a wife?? Maker), “why’s that?”

Why the surprise, that is.

[extortionate]

A wife, and don't get any ideas, Barrow.

"Well,"

Older means slower - but Lazar knows better than to go there. If Barrow was gonna die like that, would've done it already. - Older means don't get yourself fucked up by him, it'll be embarrassing.

"Reckoned you might've closed the deal on one of them Hightown broads by now."

[thereneverwas]

The scoff that this elicits does contain sincere amusement, but just as much incredulity.

"Hightown," Barrow repeats, shifting his weight unconsciously as a cat leaps from the windowsill to his shoulders, "your opinion of me's higher than I thought."

[extortionate]

"There's plenty of them get bored, start taking in strays," He finally huffs up to his elbows, displacing the armpit wriggler. Lazar spins a finger: "Wrap 'em up in sweaters. Hell, you could have hot milk, twice a day -"

[thereneverwas]

Barrow's expression lightens a bit as he considers, and eventually dismisses the thought with a shrug.

"Too many stairs."

[extortionate]

"Too many here already. They oughta move this place somewhere flat."

[thereneverwas]

Lazar is right, and that's upsetting.

"We can move people through eluvians," he muses, "maybe, if we combine all the eluvians, we could move our base to... I don't know. The Hissing Wastes. Nice and dry there."

He is, however slowly, warming to the presence of his erstwhile-erstwhile roommate. Except,

"That's my bed, by the way."

[extortionate]

There's a face that Lazar can make. It's even worked before - alright, sometimes, occasionally; less often than he'd like and almost exclusively with women of a certain age.

But he's making it.

[thereneverwas]

Barrow may be of a certain age, but sadly he's not a woman.

"Up," he grunts, jerking his thumb back toward the other bed.

[extortionate]

When you're being mean to him, this is who you're being mean to -

A thirty-five year old man who groans out of Barrow's bed like he's twelve, and toward the hall. Someone probably left their blankets behind when they vanished into a Rift. Or just didn't lock their door.

He'll be back, unfortunately. Eventually.