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He laughs, raising his hands to shove Avery away as he stumbles forward, groping for the rail to hoist himself up the steps.
"G'wan. Get."
But Avery stays put, quietly looping an arm around the older man's back and letting the man's arm sling across his shoulders, practically dragging him upwards.
"Mush, Balto, mush!" The laugh is grating, not unlike a wood chipper. He's waiting to be dropped, kicked in the face, and shoved down the steps. Still, Avery continues, all with a strong grip and a determined face.
For the first time (in a very long time), Dodgson was stunned to silence.
Eventually, they reach his flat. He fishes for his keys, in his dirty parka filled with lint and disgusting food particles. He supposes it's about time to wash it.
"Welc'me ta tha na'bahoo'," he slurs, a bemused, obviously not all there smile forming on his face as he tries to keep upright. He manages a nod, before he passes out, right there.
When he wakes up, he's in bed, covered, the blinds (thank god) closed. Next to his bed, there's a bottle of tylenol and some water in the only mug that wasn't broken.
He laughs: the kid's never gotten a hangover, has he? Still, he downs the water, swishing it in his mouth before groaning and flopping back down, nixing the idea of getting up. Ever.
"Wesh--" He attempts, coughing up phlegmn and clears his throat before trying again, now sounding more like a braying goat.
"Wes'lay!"
No answer. He's probably at home.
Or maybe he can't hear him. But can't he feel the vibrations or something? Like a bat?
He'll have to ask him.
If he ever decides to come back.
--
No one can understand Dodgson's accent, worse when he's drunk (80% of the time). It's perfectly alright to Avery, who can't hear anything in the first place.
Avery Westley: 21 year old uni student. Majoring in Mechanical Engineering. Has lost 90% of his hearing ability in both ears.
Dodgson Scott: 28 year old, store manager of a nearby dunkin donuts. Neighbor to Avery. Borderline alcoholic.
"G'wan. Get."
But Avery stays put, quietly looping an arm around the older man's back and letting the man's arm sling across his shoulders, practically dragging him upwards.
"Mush, Balto, mush!" The laugh is grating, not unlike a wood chipper. He's waiting to be dropped, kicked in the face, and shoved down the steps. Still, Avery continues, all with a strong grip and a determined face.
For the first time (in a very long time), Dodgson was stunned to silence.
Eventually, they reach his flat. He fishes for his keys, in his dirty parka filled with lint and disgusting food particles. He supposes it's about time to wash it.
"Welc'me ta tha na'bahoo'," he slurs, a bemused, obviously not all there smile forming on his face as he tries to keep upright. He manages a nod, before he passes out, right there.
When he wakes up, he's in bed, covered, the blinds (thank god) closed. Next to his bed, there's a bottle of tylenol and some water in the only mug that wasn't broken.
He laughs: the kid's never gotten a hangover, has he? Still, he downs the water, swishing it in his mouth before groaning and flopping back down, nixing the idea of getting up. Ever.
"Wesh--" He attempts, coughing up phlegmn and clears his throat before trying again, now sounding more like a braying goat.
"Wes'lay!"
No answer. He's probably at home.
Or maybe he can't hear him. But can't he feel the vibrations or something? Like a bat?
He'll have to ask him.
If he ever decides to come back.
--
No one can understand Dodgson's accent, worse when he's drunk (80% of the time). It's perfectly alright to Avery, who can't hear anything in the first place.
Avery Westley: 21 year old uni student. Majoring in Mechanical Engineering. Has lost 90% of his hearing ability in both ears.
Dodgson Scott: 28 year old, store manager of a nearby dunkin donuts. Neighbor to Avery. Borderline alcoholic.
