[Her response is a wretchedly low groan as he tries to curl away from her, mumbling indistinctly against the arm draped haphazardly over his face in his meager attempt to block out the sun. And now, conveniently enough, her. But what's possibly worse than his sorry carcass slumped at her front door is the strong repugnant stench of alcohol that comes with it, thick in the air and offensive enough that, really, she couldn't be blamed if she refused to go near him.]
no subject
[Lord, he's pathetic.]