op (maldito) wrote in rooms, @ 2014-12-15 00:45:00 |
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Entry tags: | !marvel comics, *log, joey alexander, sam alexander, shane alexander |
quicklog, Marvel: Sam, Joey, & Shane A
[After Shane closed his journal on Sam's message, he begrudgingly extracted himself from the couch he'd taken to sleeping in—the beds in the fucking mansion being way too fucking soft—and switched off the TV. His Sunday had been quiet, spent watching his telenovelas and not fucking worrying about Clementine and Graham, because he'd lose his goddamn mind, yeah?—Of course his zen shit would be disturbed by Joey. Who the fuck else?
It had been easy, in a cursory readthrough, to catch that Joey didn't fucking remember shit from before and that he was young. He didn't know how the fuck his brother thought Mug, who would've been, what? Maybe fucking six? Seven? could be writing and shit, but whatever, yeah? He just sighed and grabbed his lighter from the glass-top coffee table. Because what the fuck. First Sam, now Joey, and how many times were they going to have to explain this shit? He asked himself this stupid fucking question as he tugged on a white thermal shirt, a cold-weather vest, thrift and red, and a thick scarf. He tucked a cigarette behind his ear and with as little enthusiasm as possible, opened his door to the hotel hallway.
He sighed again as heavy boots dragged on time-threadbare carpet. He knew where the fucking Marvel shit was, and he wondered if he should say hi to Peaches, but he didn't have time to make any kind of decision, yeah? He spotted Sam, tiny thing as ever, made even fucking smaller in a plaid shirt way the fuck too big and jeans with the crotch dropped to the middle of her thighs.
Shane gave his sister a hug, and it was fucking warm, because he was a bastard, but he wasn't fucking cold.] Let's get this the fuck over with, yeah?