He hates this stupid door. It has hinges, for god's sake. And this damn chain which seems like the only thing that stops anyone who wants to from breaking in. Not that he has anything valuable in here.
Whatever.
He undoes the lock, pulls it partway open, kicks it the rest of the way.
"Hey," he says. "Come on in." His bed's only mostly made, with some rumpled blankets and sheets near the headboard. Also, gun on the bedside table, unloaded, which he left there because, well, Scott kind of has a gun on his face, so Holden figured he'd leave his visible too. Seemed... fair enough? Or something.
He gestures towards the little sitting area, love seat and a couple of armchairs.
"There's two meanings," he says. "Tilting at windmills. Either fighting illusions or fighting things that can't be beaten. I've kind of been doing both, but I meant the second one."
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Whatever.
He undoes the lock, pulls it partway open, kicks it the rest of the way.
"Hey," he says. "Come on in." His bed's only mostly made, with some rumpled blankets and sheets near the headboard. Also, gun on the bedside table, unloaded, which he left there because, well, Scott kind of has a gun on his face, so Holden figured he'd leave his visible too. Seemed... fair enough? Or something.
He gestures towards the little sitting area, love seat and a couple of armchairs.
"There's two meanings," he says. "Tilting at windmills. Either fighting illusions or fighting things that can't be beaten. I've kind of been doing both, but I meant the second one."