Title: Battle Fatigue
Written for whedonland. Prompt is resting.
Lorne stumbled through the rubble strewn throughout Caritas. Gunn's old gang hadn't been gentle to the bar or its patrons. Lorne tried to clean but only succeeded in making a dent in the damage and finishing off the vodka. He praised the gods above and below that the pillagers hadn't reached his apartment in the back as he opened the door and locked it behind him. It was a shame he couldn't tell his own future because he would have gotten more insurance, a anti-human violence charm, and a bullet proof liquor cabinet.
From the tips of his horns to his slipper-ed feet, he was worn out on Los Angeles, champions, and the shenanigans that mucked up his life. Lorne hadn't left Pylea to find himself in the middle of a battle.
He didn't bother with the light as he tripped his way through the small parlor to the bedroom. Shrugging off his robe, he got into bed with a sigh as he wondered, after so many years of hosting Caritas, where was his sanctuary?