+ the copious amount of alcohol he buys. Or, the expensive materials needed to maintain his blades, or his bike.
...Yeah. Money's tight, but not that* tight. ]
Cut me some slack. S'hard with this ol' thing.
[ He gestures to his prosthetic. ]
[ That gets Shiv sheepish, retracting his hand to rub at the nape of his neck. ]
...Money's tight. Be tighter if I wasted it on a pack or two every month.
[ Though, there were certainly other things he could rid of if he was that concerned, such as his bar–visits or +
showing through the cracked nail-polish. Shiv might be a mighty force when it came to bladework, but, when it came to rolling cigarettes? Well. Not so much. ]
—You smoke?
[ And fill in the gaps he does. Shiv glances over once Pocket settles, extending the cigarette. Messily-rolled, with bits of tobacco peeking out from loosened rolling-paper. If Pocket looked close enough, they could even see the tobacco hidden beneath his nails, +
[ Pocket settled themself next to Shiv without a word, staring off wherever Shiv did. They didn't feel the need to say the first word. Shiv never took long to fill the silent gaps. ]
[@frogaffliction]
[ Leaning against his doorframe, Shiv brings a freshly-lit cigarette up to his lips. Inhales, slowly, allowing the smoke to find and fill each and every crevice hiding within the holes of his lungs; Exhales, sharply, billowing out through his nostrils and +
/ thinking abt the fact that shiv is like, canonically scared of the day that the baxter society turns on him & the fact he's also prolly extremely lonely bc of it ... also his weapon name & the implications there.... hmmm
+ the corners of an downturned mouth. Shirtless, he is, save for a greyish-undershirt, yet still wearing those ill-fitting pants of his. He's waiting for Pocket, after all, and even though they wouldn't mind if he looked like a mess, he'd still liked to be.. 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 +