There were obvious ups and downs to have a temporary roommate who seemed bent on his own self destruction. Cyrus Rax tended to wander in at all hours of the day and night but that was never a big deal for a slicer that never seemed to sleep anyway, just catching rest and z’s stretched out on the comfortable captain’s chair set up near his consoles.
It was when he came blundering in and breaking shit that it seemed a downer. Rax blamed the packed-too-tight clutter and overflowing shelves, a direct inability to getting around with bleary eyes and a balance too sunk by drugs, drink or exhaustion. Birdy thought he just needed to spend more time sober, but maybe they were both right.
The upsides were more subtle. Company, for one. Reasons to unplug from his system and stretch out a bit to reconnect with the good things reality had to offer.
“Maybe you oughta put some clothes on,” Birdy called out to the big man sprawled on the couch in nothing but his boxers, socks, and a glazed look of faraway thought.