Godot's interest in the greenhouse ended when the nurse informed him that no, they did not have coffee plants there. He was more than content to take another nap on the couch, but a bossy woman in orthopedic pumps nagged as much as a nanny on steroids, as if she honestly believed a little more fresh air was really that good for someone in 'your unfortunate condition, Mr. Valdez.' Because apparently where modern medicine failed, gardening would step in and make his boo boos all better.
Ha! That was Trite's sort of logic if he'd ever heard it.
Oh, and the conversation he'd had with Blondie was far from forgotten. Only his pride as a lawyer had given Godot the training enough to keep a face of composure as he walked into the greenhouse. Trite wasn't there, and that was for the best; too much of his nonsense at once, and even the prosecutor's temper might snap. If that were going to happen, better it be tonight, when he could belittle the man in the privacy of his own needle-free room.
There was someone there, however, who Godot did want to hear from. Just how much had Pretty Boy found out about the future? Not that he held much faith in someone who chose tea over the purity of black magic, or Trite for company in his bed (still a suspicion, but Godot wouldn't be afraid to place money on that bet). Still, there was something about the whole affair that didn't settle properly in his mind, like finding coffee grounds in his mug. Even if it was just the hope that the future as described wasn't possible, that Trite really couldn't stoop so low; even that was enough to get Godot to head over to the man.
"Looking for something worthy of steeping, Frilly Boy?" If they grew tea here, but not coffee, Godot was going to file a formal complaint. "At least your ruffles won't get dirty, thanks to the uniforms they so thoughtfully provided us."
no subject
Ha! That was Trite's sort of logic if he'd ever heard it.
Oh, and the conversation he'd had with Blondie was far from forgotten. Only his pride as a lawyer had given Godot the training enough to keep a face of composure as he walked into the greenhouse. Trite wasn't there, and that was for the best; too much of his nonsense at once, and even the prosecutor's temper might snap. If that were going to happen, better it be tonight, when he could belittle the man in the privacy of his own needle-free room.
There was someone there, however, who Godot did want to hear from. Just how much had Pretty Boy found out about the future? Not that he held much faith in someone who chose tea over the purity of black magic, or Trite for company in his bed (still a suspicion, but Godot wouldn't be afraid to place money on that bet). Still, there was something about the whole affair that didn't settle properly in his mind, like finding coffee grounds in his mug. Even if it was just the hope that the future as described wasn't possible, that Trite really couldn't stoop so low; even that was enough to get Godot to head over to the man.
"Looking for something worthy of steeping, Frilly Boy?" If they grew tea here, but not coffee, Godot was going to file a formal complaint. "At least your ruffles won't get dirty, thanks to the uniforms they so thoughtfully provided us."