Wes doesn't seem in any great hurry to get started. His days have never been structured around the typical 9 - 5 anyway, and obligating the man to any schedule that requires a routine and concrete start and end times isn't very likely to capture his attention. He walks around the back of the chair and over to the side of the room, where an industrial-looking cart holds a few haircutting supplies, a large candle, and a bluetooth player that looks asynchronous with the rest of the scene.
Lighting a match, Wes ignites the candle. He can't pretend he's not curious, but he holds off on turning immediately back to Neal and giving himself away. It takes a moment for the heat to bloom the scent anyway, but when it does, it'll be whatever Neal considers his favorite thing in the world. As if perfectly matched to replicate some kind of nostalgia, different to every nose who breathes it in. Wes reads the note in the mirror and taps his reply.
ON AND OFF. A COUPLE OF KIDS ANSWER THE PHONE WHEN THEY FEEL LIKE, A FRIEND MAKES MY DELIVERIES.
YOU CAN CONNECT YOUR PHONE TO THAT SPEAKER IF YOU WANT TO PLAY YOUR MUSIC.
no subject
Lighting a match, Wes ignites the candle. He can't pretend he's not curious, but he holds off on turning immediately back to Neal and giving himself away. It takes a moment for the heat to bloom the scent anyway, but when it does, it'll be whatever Neal considers his favorite thing in the world. As if perfectly matched to replicate some kind of nostalgia, different to every nose who breathes it in. Wes reads the note in the mirror and taps his reply.
ON AND OFF. A COUPLE OF KIDS ANSWER THE PHONE WHEN THEY FEEL LIKE, A FRIEND MAKES MY DELIVERIES.
YOU CAN CONNECT YOUR PHONE TO THAT SPEAKER IF YOU WANT TO PLAY YOUR MUSIC.