Agent Seeley Booth (shootsclowns) wrote in parabolical, @ 2008-07-06 14:53:00 |
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Entry tags: | jack sparrow, open, owen harper, seeley booth |
Who: Booth and Owen
What: Late dinner
When: Sometime after 9 pm
Where: Moe's Tavern and Grill
Rating: TBD
Dr. Gordon Wyatt had hit the nail on the head when he stated that Seeley Booth needed to feel in control.
Since his arrival in Los Angeles, three years in the past, Booth had little to no control over his situation. The notes resting on the bar counter by his elbow read like a bad sci fi movie. Vampires, demons, werewolves, witches, superheroes, psychics, and dasterdly villians existed, truth serums had an entire city confessing their every sin, and creatures unexplainable took away voices. And then there was the whole resembling other people, right down to being a twin. That was a level of creepy that surpassed anything Booth had experienced before. Nothing like that had ever happened, or even been hinted at through evidence or suspicions, where he was from.
And what was worse was he couldn't seem to find a single way to fix his situation. He couldn't find a way home to his son, his job, Bones and the Squint Squad. Heidi had talked about the Powers that Be being responsible for bringing people to LA to fight the good fight but he felt he was more like an accident in the greater scheme of things. No super powers, no encyclopedic knowledge of the otherworldly, just a badge and good aim. And if it was about making atonement, he thought he'd been doing well enough helping to catch murderers and serial killers.
So he was in a bad mood, pissed off to be exact. In an attempt not to let Whistler see after she had gone through the trouble of cheering him up, Booth had gone out for the night, taking a walk to clear his head after staring at the computer screen too long, reading something that didn't make sense. His wanderings brought him to a small restraunt a few blocks from the hotel. Sitting down at the counter, he'd ordered a drink and a burger before settling in to try and wring some sense out of his notes again, while sometimes drifting to the baseball game on TV.