(no subject)

In the end, he evicts himself from his own home despite the disdain for his surroundings and the terrible costumes he's been made to wear by some greater power seemingly well-invested in having a laugh at his grief. His hands continue to tremble and he tires of watching the shadows his fingers make in the dance of the lamplight. He tosses on an overcoat and makes his way down the street, shaking snow off his shoulders as he finds warmth and privacy in the comforting environment of a local pub. He opens his mouth to order, three inner fingers held up to ask for three fingers of the finest whiskey from an apparition that doesn't seem to see him.

Wearily, he presses his shaking fingers to his forehead. He cannot sleep. Each time he closes his eyes to try, he is brought back to that nightmare. He begins to wonder if he ever left. He begins to wonder if it would be better that he had not. The torture could have ended there and then, but it didn't. Now, he's left to try and drink away the demons that haunt him through night and day.

"Danke," he murmurs lowly when somehow (he doesn't dare ask about the logic) a drink is presented to him. He's tired of hurting. He's tired of feeling so damn much. He should feel better for being let to kill Shaw. Shouldn't he?