John swished the liquor around in the bottle. It was enough to relax him, but not much more than that, as long as he spread out his drinking across the next couple of hours. A wind blew across the small field of apple trees, no more than a dozen, and knocked one to the ground with a soft thunk. He was tempted to go out and get it, but the apple he had was satisfying enough to keep him in his oversized chair. He wondered to himself what he was doing, sitting out here not three hours past noon, eating an apple and drinking his whiskey. He set the bottle down and thought, easily commanding a liquid metal to slide to his thumb as he cut a chunk off of the apple, popping it into his mouth.

The forge was cold, and had been for three days now. The last thing he’d made had been a few buckets of nails.

Ooh, exciting work that is, eh John Cromwell? Still pretending you belong in this tedium?

The half-giant sighed. This was enough. Tedium was soothing sometimes, wasn’t it? Tedium and routine distracted him.

Mostly.

He growled, tossing the apple into his tiny field of trees, ducking under his doorway into the house. What did it matter what he thought? They were gone, and they would still be gone whether he was distracted or not. Jamie’s words rang in his head again.

"I’m not just a distraction, am I? I don’t want to be that to you, John."

He looked through the kitchen doorway to the pantry. There were more bottles there, he knew.