#slshernght

      Nothing gets you in the holiday spirit quite like a poorly sang Christmas carol, right? Some crowd of kids with some serious voice cracks or some senile old people trudge up to your door, do their bit, and then expect some kind of… praise? Who knows what the fuck they want. You don’t ask those people to crowd around your door and blow a bunch of hot air in your place. Anyways, the point is, you know it’s getting near that time if those assholes start showing up around the neighborhood. Time to nab those last-minute gifts and send those cheap Christmas cards that you swear you’ll never do again but keep forking up the cash for year after year…

      Apparently, in the slammer, things don’t change that much except that godawful singing is in the middle of the fucking night, right next door... and it may or may not be Christmas. Seriously, what time of year is it? He’s lost track. Does this guy have an internal holiday clock or something? And how does Rick turn it off?

“Buddy, you’ve really gotta give it a rest, okay?” The former executive says airily, wide awake, laying on his back on his filthy mattress. ‘God Rest ye Merry Gentlemen’ doesn’t seem to have any stopping point, because the tune keeps going, coming out in a gurgle while Richard talks.

“Hey. Shut the fuck up!” When someone isn’t listening or doesn’t understand, just get louder, right?

Eyes half lidded with a cocktail of exhaustion, annoyance, and slipping sanity, Trager is still for a second longer as the bastard continues on.

  majima almost wants to laugh, and it’s fairly obvious with the way he stifles a chortle in his throat with more than enough effort, throat straining and eye looking away with second-hand embarrassment from the poor attorney, as described, on the floor. ‘come out drinking with me, law boy,’ majima would say; ‘you’re doin’ good work out there n’ deserve to get a lil’ bit wasted-- all on me, i’ve got some cash to spare!’  he can restrain a laugh now in hindsight, the sly mutt, but what else can he do now except help phoenix’s ass up and haul him back to his office? y’know, instead of loitering outside of the well lit and warm bar behind them. it isn’t like majima knows where he lives (not that the information would be hard to find; a not-so-well-meaning perk of being the patriarch of your own family).

   he squats in front of his liquor-sickened friend, mouth curling up into something amused, feline-like, and he extends a hand to pat lightly at his shoulder.