Late night phonecall ((Sarah))
May. 13th, 2009 01:18 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
freedhunterIt wasn't many who knew that Ford had a rather impressive garden, and very few would actually believe it if they were told. The jaded and rather cynical man didn't exactly fit the image of a gardener.
But still it was the truth. The front of his house was mainly just nice, but the back of it was lush and the subject of many of his neighbors envy. He was glad that he'd given the impression that he wouldn't appreciate people asking him what his secret was, because he'd never be able to tell anyone the truth. For while others fed their plants water and fertilizers, he fed his something different. Whenever he came home with his body nearly pulsating with energy that wasn't his own, he poured it into the plants in his garden.
In a way, it was a rather beautiful cemetery. Of sorts.
But even with how it had came about, Ford rather enjoyed it. Even if he didn't feel much pride in it, it was beautiful. And at night, when Francis had gone to sleep and the noise from the neighbors had quieted down, it was even peaceful.
Not that it helped Ford's mood any on this particular night. He's had a job that very day. It had been rather close by, so he hadn't had to travel much, but it had been a tricky one. Someone with very good shields. Ford's head still hurt from when the guy had managed to hit him with a steel pipe. Oh, the injury itself was long gone and he was physically fine, but a memory of it - ghost pains - still lingered.
In the end, it was a rather drunk Ford with a foul mood hanging over him like a raincloud who sat out in his garden, nursing a bottle of bourbon and trying to relax. He didn't analyze why he got out his phone and dialed Sarah Cassidy's number. Maybe he just wanted to take out his irritation on someone.
But still it was the truth. The front of his house was mainly just nice, but the back of it was lush and the subject of many of his neighbors envy. He was glad that he'd given the impression that he wouldn't appreciate people asking him what his secret was, because he'd never be able to tell anyone the truth. For while others fed their plants water and fertilizers, he fed his something different. Whenever he came home with his body nearly pulsating with energy that wasn't his own, he poured it into the plants in his garden.
In a way, it was a rather beautiful cemetery. Of sorts.
But even with how it had came about, Ford rather enjoyed it. Even if he didn't feel much pride in it, it was beautiful. And at night, when Francis had gone to sleep and the noise from the neighbors had quieted down, it was even peaceful.
Not that it helped Ford's mood any on this particular night. He's had a job that very day. It had been rather close by, so he hadn't had to travel much, but it had been a tricky one. Someone with very good shields. Ford's head still hurt from when the guy had managed to hit him with a steel pipe. Oh, the injury itself was long gone and he was physically fine, but a memory of it - ghost pains - still lingered.
In the end, it was a rather drunk Ford with a foul mood hanging over him like a raincloud who sat out in his garden, nursing a bottle of bourbon and trying to relax. He didn't analyze why he got out his phone and dialed Sarah Cassidy's number. Maybe he just wanted to take out his irritation on someone.
