It seemed to be a truth as of late that the gain of rest or relative
peace of mind was to be but a distant memory, and Chibs knew
that well. It comes with the territory. The restlessness, the lack of
proper personal care, the altogether absence of the ability to take a
step back and breath, the crippling stress, among other things. But
it also seemed to him that out of all of California’s many sights,
there were two he would be most likely found: Stockton, or Althea
Jarry’s house. A third much less seen but nevertheless important
destination spoke out as well, if not from importance, than for the
temporary haven it offered.
Drained emotionally, physically, and mentally, Chibs wasn’t as
strong as he appeared to be; much to his disgust, it was an
undeniable truth that he is totally and wholly broken, kept together
only by the burn of whiskey down his throat, the unfavorable habit
of smoking, and miraculously present spite. He couldn’t be blamed
entirely. Surrounded by loss and bloodshed on a near constant
basis, some things are bound to weigh on you. It’s the recent loss
of a close brother that seemed to be impacting him the most as of
late, and the packages which came beforehand. And now, officially,
a second thing was added to that list in the form of a sheriff he’d
been playing, but hadn’t expected be on the receiving end of
emotional hurt from. His unannounced arrivals upon Alison’s
doorstep and the ensuing allowing himself in without warning had
became a regular occurrence, but right then, he hadn’t even the
energy to really explain anything; he simply draped across her
couch, fingers kneading into slicked hair.
Curiosity flickers somewhere beneath eyes that are fixed on the elder
Telford, an attempt to speak is lost somewhere between the static and
unhinged nerves. She loves her brother, at times more than she’s capable
of expressing and while she relishes in any opportunity to spend time with
the Scot she knows that these days he’s in a dark place. And she’s more
than willing to accept him, accept the darkness and the violence that now
resides within the depths of his soul; he is her brother after all an. However
recently things have gotten to a point where she’s constantly worrying about
Filip. So much so that it’s begun to take a physical toll on her. It’s clear to her
that the Scot and his club are bordering on the edge of coming undone, and
with each passing day the likelihood that he might meet his demise becomes
a reality. It’s a reality that she’s not ready to face.
Instead she settles on refilling his now empty glass, clutching the bottle of
Jameson like a crutch as she takes a seat on the couch next to him. Resting
her forehead against his shoulder —-she’s reluctant to break the silence that’s
been building since he arrived. Hesitant about prying on his private thoughts,
he’ll share what he wants to when he’s ready but she’s truth be told she’s a
bit concerned about his appearance. There’s obviously something eating away
at him and while it’s usually in her nature to grill the Scot until he cracks, there
isn’t a point in digging her fingers into wounds that have yet to be healed.
And she’s more than aware that there isn’t much she can say to heal those
wounds; she knows that words fall short when it comes to comforting one who
is experiencing the loss of a loved one.
