[Nate can clearly recall an occasion where his older brother wove a tapestry of curses and swilled cachaça on a flea-bitten couch while he pressed a merthiolate-soaked (sort of) clean rag to a new stab wound. Isoproyl has nothing on Satan's antiseptic.
Nate doesn't give Lance a verbal answer, and he doesn't entirely need to when his face so clearly communicates no shit, Sherlock.]
no subject
Nate doesn't give Lance a verbal answer, and he doesn't entirely need to when his face so clearly communicates no shit, Sherlock.]