Sullivan - Blog Posts
Randall não está vendo nada
Can I just say how Cute this panel was…🥹❤️🥹❤️🥹❤️
Look at them… 🥹
Lainn raised his eyebrows at their echoing, before squinting at the others, in a small moment of quiet. Though as the stranger continued, he is gaze shifted elsewhere as he listened quietly. That did sound very strange. Though, he supposed most coffee tasted terrible, anyway. As he never liked the stuff. Though he would never have described of the times he had tasted it, to be like a burnt tire, “Does it ever get cleaned out?” He chanced asking. Not sure this was the right person to ask. Turning his head from them, he looked about the 'station' where any coffee maker might be, spotting it easily, then giving a 'tsk' toward the look of the thing. It needed to be put out of its misery.
With a hesitating glance back to the other, he further listened to them as they moved their comments on toward him. Moving closer toward the coffee maker, he sighed a bit, begrudging of this newcomer look he was sporting in his being, at the moment. He hated being new to anything. It drew far too much attention than what he really liked, toward himself. Lainn nodded, however, “I'm not really much of a coffee drinker, to be fair.” Though he could, perhaps, help to make the coffee better, if need be. Lainn glanced at them, “Just, getting the lay of the place, I guess you might say.”
“Have you seen me around, huh.” He supposed his exploring was noticed, “I suppose you'd say that is the case. Though I don't drink coffee, I thought there might be something. Maybe tea… But hello. I'm Lainn.” He elegantly held out his hand, gesturing to Tali, “This is my son, you may call him Tali.” Lainn introduced, his eyes on the area of the coffee maker once more, “It is good to meet you Sullivan, I guess?” He grinned, “Absolute loathing might be more descriptive of what I feel toward coffee.” Turning then, he politely took the other's offering for a handshake, giving a strong, good shake before letting go after a respectable amount of time. Then he pointed at the coffee maker, “Who owns it?”
“What’s wrong with it?” Sullivan echoed, their Southern drawl curling around the words. They gestured dramatically at the mug. “You mean aside from the fact it tastes like someone boiled a burnt tire in swamp water and called it a day? Absolutely nothing. Top-notch poison.”
Their grin deepened as their gaze drifted back to Lainn, noting the way he was sizing them up—or maybe just trying to make sense of them. Sullivan let the silence hang for a moment before adding, “Let me guess—you’re not here for the coffee either, are you? No one comes here for this mess unless they’ve lost a bet or all their other bad habits dried up.”
They tilted their head slightly, as if considering something. “I’ve seen you around,” they said, gesturing lazily toward him. “Usually keeping to yourself. Guess the coffee finally broke you down, huh? Name’s Sullivan, by the way. Figured we should get that out of the way since we’re bonding over mutual disdain.” They extended a hand with a crooked grin, their tone a perfect blend of playful and sardonic. “You?”
Trying to mind his own business, he was lost in his own thoughts, half listening to Tali talk to a toy dinosaur he had from a batch of his own toys from the back of the truck. Lainn yawned a bit, rubbing an eye as he tried waking up to deal with this…whatever, moment in his life. He suddenly blinked out of his state, realizing, he had no idea what he had even come in here for. Turning his head and he hears a voice speak up, outside, his Tali yapping off excitedly about dinosaurs. Finding the source of the notable accented voice, he locked his gaze on the person sitting in a corner, picking through a book just a couple of feet from them.
“I don't think even the most skilled coffee maker in this place could ever fix whatever is going on over there.” He gestured half-heartedly toward the coffee machine. Especially if the water may have been tampered with, which was his suspicion of what was going on with the people in this town. Again, he had to ask himself why on earth he had even come to wander in this place. He wasn't even looking for coffee. Lainn's gaze moved from the stranger's face to the book they had. Trying to see from where he was standing if he recognized it.
But the person continued and he listened. There was little else he had going on for him at that moment. But it really didn't culminate too much in the end, for him. Nodding his head, he wondered who was in charge of making moonshine around here. Or the coffee, even. Were they the same people? “What's wrong with it, anyway?” Lainn paused pointing toward their cup of coffee.
The late afternoon sun filtered through the grimy windows of the town diner, casting long streaks of light across the cracked vinyl booths. Sullivan sat at the corner table, a half-empty cup of lukewarm coffee in front of them, the faint trace of a smirk tugging at their lips. One hand lazily flipped through a tattered book they’d snagged from the community bookshelf, the other tapping a restless rhythm on the table. "Y’know," they said aloud to no one in particular, their Southern drawl dripping with amusement, "for a place so hellbent on keeping people alive, you’d think someone would’ve figured out how to make a decent cup of coffee by now." Their eyes flicked up, scanning the room with a mixture of curiosity and mischief, as if waiting for someone to take the bait. Sullivan leaned back in the chair, balancing it precariously on two legs, the grin on their face daring anyone to join them—or argue with them. "Either way," they added with a shrug, "it’s still better than moonshine that tastes like it’s been filtered through an old boot. Guess you pick your poison."
