[Otto takes a sip of his own whiskey, half to give himself a moment before he responds. The burn reminds him unexpectedly of the bottle he'd stolen from Harry, up at that penthouse - he'd half-forgotten he did that. It's like he's out of control in a different way lately, always thinking of things he doesn't mean or want to.]
My - Rosie. She could sew a bit, but it wasn't her passion. She'd have hated me dressing the way I was, though.
[Maybe that's part of why he bothered fixing it at all. Sure, tearing through shirts was a hassle, but Otto struggles to really care.]
no subject
[Otto takes a sip of his own whiskey, half to give himself a moment before he responds. The burn reminds him unexpectedly of the bottle he'd stolen from Harry, up at that penthouse - he'd half-forgotten he did that. It's like he's out of control in a different way lately, always thinking of things he doesn't mean or want to.]
My - Rosie. She could sew a bit, but it wasn't her passion. She'd have hated me dressing the way I was, though.
[Maybe that's part of why he bothered fixing it at all. Sure, tearing through shirts was a hassle, but Otto struggles to really care.]