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[Jan. 25th, 2010|06:39 pm] |
*has settled into a routine of sorts in Ossiriand, which primarily consists of spending as much time with her daughter as possible, and as little time with her daughter's father as possible*
*generally tries to avoid going near Celegorm's house but allows that it is occasionally unavoidable, when Lily's lessons run late, &c*
*ensuring that she is impeccably turned out, in a top, a pair of jeans and a perfectly tailored coat, makes her way to Celegorm's house, feeling edgy as soon as she passes through the gateway* |
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[Jan. 25th, 2010|07:15 pm] |
*has a date for his school's winter dance, and she's basically the coolest, most gorgeous girl ever* *is vaguely aware that most a few of the girls at his school are heartbroken a little disappointed that he's taken—which, okay, is kinda nice, he supposes?*
*as the day of the dance approaches and the initial excitement (she said yes!) wears off, begins to experience a brand of panic he's not entirely sure how to handle, panic to the tune of what the hell do I do now? and what if I step on her feet? and kiss or no kiss?* *does ask his dad whether it's hard to dance, at which point he's subjected to an embarrassing but overall hilarious attempt at a lesson god his parents are such dorks sometimes*
*finally remembers a few important details, such as the fact that he has no idea where or when he's acquiring his date* *brings up her number in his phone at least four times in the space of an afternoon, practicing his opening line very quietly to himself* Hi. Hiya. Hey. This is Mír? It's Domíran. Hi, Lily, it's me, Mír. Hey, how're you? HI. *oh god why can't he sound even a little bit cool??*
*eventually just presses Send before he can rethink it, resigning himself to the fact that he's going to sound stupid, so he might as well try to be cute-stupid* |
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[Jan. 25th, 2010|10:59 pm] |
*is discharged the day after his operation and makes an immediate attempt to return to work (it doesn't take)*
*spends much of the first day circling his coffee table, eyeing the prescription painkillers but determined not to take them* *in a flash of insight, realises that maybe drinking alcohol really isn't a sensible alternative and so pours out the contents of the remaining bottles of whiskey and bourbon and gin and vodka (and and and) in his apartment* *has no real clue how long that resolution will last but is determined for today, at least*
*attempts to go to work the second day but finds it very frustrating, between the pain in his arm and the fact that he can only finger-peck at the keyboard, resulting in short, typo-filled emails which he has to correct painstakingly*
*finally, cuts out for a very early lunch and takes Marigold for a nice long walk on a circuitous route through the city* |
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[Jan. 25th, 2010|11:26 pm] |
*is on his way to meet Doc at Fat Fred's, when he gets a very strange, very short phone call*
*has no idea what to make of Doc's tone, or the words themselves (can you. I'm not at Fred's. I'm parked down the street. behind the old bookstore.), but doesn't ask questions just yet, instead agreeing with his own variety of shorthand-speak*
*minutes later, is moseying up to Doc's recognizable old pickup, which is parked at odd angles across two parking spaces (good thing the old bookstore's shut down)* *raps his knuckles against the passenger side window and lets himself in without waiting for an invitation* |
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sore