thispicture @ : steppin' out of ketosis
Who: Brody, open
Where: A general store
When: Monday evening
He should have left.
Of course his life was defined by a series of should-haves and should-have-nots; of course, every decision he'd ever made had been the wrong one. He was still alive, though, so there was that, against all odds--because he'd been half-convinced that after he fell asleep on the man, Percy's, couch, he wasn't going to wake up, and his body would wash up two weeks later and he'd be chilling up there in Heaven or whatever, like, "Dang y'all!" to all the angels. But he did. Wake up, that is. He did that. And he waited.
Nothing happened.
Well, things happened, but none of them involved getting his throat cut and bleeding out in the bathtub like he was half-expecting. No, he woke up, nothing untoward happened, he retained all of his brain function. It was almost like they didn't know what to do with him and he was kind of confused. Why did he stay?
Oh right. Nothing better to do.
He was getting a little better at navigating both English streets, and English money. (What the hell was a pound, and how much was it worth in real money?) He meant to come down to the corner store here to get something to eat, since he hadn't really eaten much of anything since Daniel died--surprisingly, watching five people get slaughtered in front of you was a great way to lose your appetite--so it was probably a good idea to feed himself before he... you know, died.
Of course he got distracted in its paltry make up aisle, missing all the make up he'd left behind in a suitcase in a hotel whose name he didn't know on a street he couldn't remember. Lip gloss, advertised to young girls, was what distracted him, and he picked one off the shelf, staring at it. Cookie Dough? Really? Flavoured?! Good Lord. This was a whole world of lip-covering snack possibilities he'd never considered. What next, edible mascara?
Tags: duke-jeremy "brody" mcadams, jean-julian alexandre marais, open
Who: Brody, open
Where: A general store
When: Monday evening
He should have left.
Of course his life was defined by a series of should-haves and should-have-nots; of course, every decision he'd ever made had been the wrong one. He was still alive, though, so there was that, against all odds--because he'd been half-convinced that after he fell asleep on the man, Percy's, couch, he wasn't going to wake up, and his body would wash up two weeks later and he'd be chilling up there in Heaven or whatever, like, "Dang y'all!" to all the angels. But he did. Wake up, that is. He did that. And he waited.
Nothing happened.
Well, things happened, but none of them involved getting his throat cut and bleeding out in the bathtub like he was half-expecting. No, he woke up, nothing untoward happened, he retained all of his brain function. It was almost like they didn't know what to do with him and he was kind of confused. Why did he stay?
Oh right. Nothing better to do.
He was getting a little better at navigating both English streets, and English money. (What the hell was a pound, and how much was it worth in real money?) He meant to come down to the corner store here to get something to eat, since he hadn't really eaten much of anything since Daniel died--surprisingly, watching five people get slaughtered in front of you was a great way to lose your appetite--so it was probably a good idea to feed himself before he... you know, died.
Of course he got distracted in its paltry make up aisle, missing all the make up he'd left behind in a suitcase in a hotel whose name he didn't know on a street he couldn't remember. Lip gloss, advertised to young girls, was what distracted him, and he picked one off the shelf, staring at it. Cookie Dough? Really? Flavoured?! Good Lord. This was a whole world of lip-covering snack possibilities he'd never considered. What next, edible mascara?
Tags: duke-jeremy "brody" mcadams, jean-julian alexandre marais, open