It was good there were no mirrors around. If Hancock had to look at himself every damn day minute of the day, he’d rip out his eyeballs. A ragged groan rattled from his chest, slipping passed cracked, reddened lips. Lips, though, suggested that he had skin, and that had fallen off years ago.
A calloused hand rubbed the side of his face, the dim light catching on his rings. How long had he been laying on this couch? The last thing he remembered was getting shit faced with Daisy and Ham. Had that been a few hours ago or yesterday?
Regardless, he should get his ass up and do something. It was a slow effort, his joints creaking as he pushed himself upright. He swung his legs over the edge, still fully dressed, and promptly leaned back into the couch. Ok, just a few more minutes. He rubbed at his temple, the action making him realize he didn’t have his hat on.
Hancock’s head rolled to the side, blue eyes searching for the missing garment. No one needed to see the string of yellow hairs that still clung to his head, as if feebly holding onto the last of his humanity. Well, he had news for them. That had long since kicked the bucket.
The hat was overturned on the end of the couch. He leaned over, pinching the brim between two fingers and placing it on his head. Much better.
Another stretch, bones cracking in protest, and he pushed himself to his feet.
The table in front of him hosted a plethora of chems, everything from jet to med-x laid out. Usually he’d pop a mentat or two in the morning, get his brain going. He reached for one for one of the tins, popping it open to find a scattered few left. He grabbed one, paused, then picked up another to join it. Better safe than sorry.
