At last, a genuine compliment about his moustache. That makes Doc a little less irritable. "Could always grow yours out." Although it's a fine line between 80s pornstache - not that Doc knows what that is - and respectable gentleman.
Doc offers the smoke over to Negan before plucking one out for himself. He's still got a box of matches he had salvaged from one of the first houses he checked out when he first got here, but it's near impossible to keep lit in the snow and wind so it has to wait until they're inside the Town Hall before he pauses to strike one and light Negan's up, then his own.
He glances over all the notes fluttering on the board before the door closes and the wind that had swept inside dies down. There's a good chance Raylan would see it if he left a note up. He would come looking for Doc once he's figured out how to handle Malcolm on his own, or so he thinks. He hopes, without really hoping. It would be nice to be looked for, this time around.
Moving briskly over to the stack of papers and plucking the nearest pen up, Doc draws a few squiggles to get the ink flowing before breathing a sigh and placing the tip of the pen in the top left hand corner of the sheet. So many things to write. So many things he does not want to. Too many thoughts. Too big of a sheet of paper to cram them all into. He lifts the pen and sets it down again, rolling it between thumb and forefinger a bit while the cigarette burns away between his lips.
"...do you mind?" Why are you breathing down his neck looking over his shoulder, Negan? You're giving him performance anxiety.
no subject
Doc offers the smoke over to Negan before plucking one out for himself. He's still got a box of matches he had salvaged from one of the first houses he checked out when he first got here, but it's near impossible to keep lit in the snow and wind so it has to wait until they're inside the Town Hall before he pauses to strike one and light Negan's up, then his own.
He glances over all the notes fluttering on the board before the door closes and the wind that had swept inside dies down. There's a good chance Raylan would see it if he left a note up. He would come looking for Doc once he's figured out how to handle Malcolm on his own, or so he thinks. He hopes, without really hoping. It would be nice to be looked for, this time around.
Moving briskly over to the stack of papers and plucking the nearest pen up, Doc draws a few squiggles to get the ink flowing before breathing a sigh and placing the tip of the pen in the top left hand corner of the sheet. So many things to write. So many things he does not want to. Too many thoughts. Too big of a sheet of paper to cram them all into. He lifts the pen and sets it down again, rolling it between thumb and forefinger a bit while the cigarette burns away between his lips.
"...do you mind?" Why are you breathing down his neck looking over his shoulder, Negan? You're giving him performance anxiety.