johnm
His family was always a tad dysfunctional; they would argue about who Bach's inspiration was, whether or not the nuclear war would effect Ireland. Things like that. Normal family things. As he sits alone in his youngest brother's hideout, Jim lets out a huff of laughter and shakes his head.
Jim felt his tongue nearly stick to the roof of his mouth; he wiped away a bead of sweat crawling down the side of his face and lifted the the bottle of water (empty) to his eye level. He glowered a bit, feeling woozy from dehydration and then tried to lick his lips again in order to moisturize them at least some.
He wouldn't say that the blond was his salvation...he wouldn't let the words leave his lips. As the angel held out his hand to the demon with a soft smile and a bottle of good wine in his other hand, the demon felt as if he was seeing Heaven again.
His fingers smudge the magazine's pages; making a little face, Lincoln folds the paper over his knee and rests his face in his hand. He smears the paint over one cheek, and when Thomas comes over to ask how he's doing, a little smile appears over his brother's lips and he wipes away the blue covering Lincoln's face.