Fenrir's Fangs

Craig shrugs in James' direction. "I dunno, you know that Flynn's lazier than a broke-dick dog, thanks, though." He signals to the cliath hobo was eyeing earlier. "Oi, newbie, Wine please!" A couple minutes later the cliath comes over, wine in hand and glare on her face. Murdoch smiles at her and produces 2 morphine syrettes from his rucksack. "Thanks much cliath! Don't burn these up too quick." As the cliath storms off Craig sets his sack down on the table. "So, Vik, how 'bout them papes? I'll split the J with youse." He looks solemnly into hobo's eyes, eagerly awaiting an answer.