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[Nov. 1st, 2010|09:30 pm] |
*follows Doc out to the truck after a post-evening-flight run to the store, mostly brought on by a shared craving for beer and Doc's homemade triple-mushroom pizza*
*isn't really sure how they ended up in the pet aisle (it's on the other side of the store?), but has found himself the bearer of various cat-items along with the beer*
*hefts the fifty-pound bag of cat food over his shoulder and snorts* Dude, you planning on starting a shelter? How much's this cat eat? |
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[Jul. 8th, 2010|10:00 pm] |
*stops into Doc's place unannounced, as usual, having received a short and uninformative text (back in town) two days earlier*
*walks in and kicks his boots off by the door before making his way back into the kitchen* *pauses to take in the scene: pies and pies and pies, sitting on every flat surface available (and a few not-so-flat surfaces, too)*
*raises his brows briefly* Dude. You have an illness. |
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[Mar. 26th, 2010|10:06 pm] |
*is carefully deposited on his couch, where he immediately slumps back into the people-eating cushions and blinks at the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window* *mumbles* Feels weird bein' home so early. Like. Really weird.
*wrinkles his nose and forces a yawn, sighing grumpily* Ears're still ringing. *directs a woeful (if somewhat unfocused) look up at his transportation for the day* So much for the spotless record, huh? |
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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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[Dec. 11th, 2009|11:02 pm] |
*it's a snowy Tuesday night in Buckleburgh, which can only mean one thing: griddle-hot waffles at Fred's*
*polishes off his fifth stack and settles back contentedly, one hand curled around his coffee mug, the other nudging his plate to the side* *licks syrup from his thumb and rumbles* Hits the spot, man. *thoughtfully* When's the last time we missed Unlimited Waffles? |
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[Jul. 3rd, 2009|07:52 pm] |
*has been very busy since his trip to Gondolin, between the construction sites he and Dill are working and the beginning of peak balloon-season* *on the family front, has also endured countless questions about "that Gondolin guy" he's "so hung up on" he "can't see straight" literally, ahaha* *thinks he'd better introduce Jackie right quick, or the grandmas will organize some kind of Inquisition*
*is driving back from an evening flight, one arm draped out the window and the other slung over the steering wheel, when a slight rumble from the passenger seat snags his attention* *blinks and glances at his companion, realizing quite suddenly that he's been lost in thought for... a while* *sheepishly* Oh. Sorry, 'd you say something...? |
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[Jun. 2nd, 2009|10:01 pm] |
*it's Unlimited Waffles Tuesday!* *locks up the scrapyard and jumps in the truck, heading right on over to Fat Fred's*
*parks and moseys inside (as casually as a six-foot-eight behemoth can mosey, that is), immediately spotting his usual breakfast-for-dinner cohort up at the counter* *grabs himself a stool alongside*
*...*
Dude. Put his clothes back on. |
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[Mar. 26th, 2009|07:26 pm] |
*is busily inspecting the balloon envelope spread out on the Long Crick Mountain Lodge's warehouse floor* *hasn't found any nicks or tears yet, but this is one of the older balloons due to be retired in the next season or so—a little extra wear won't be out of place*
*pauses and sits back on his haunches as his cellular vibrates in his pocket* *pulls the phone out and flips it open, scanning the new text message*
*snickers* *glances over at his companion* Hey, Atticus. Help me out, will you? I need a mythical figure, real or fictional, whose name starts with the letter 'I' and ends with some horrible letter like 'z' or 'x'. Something hard to springboard off of. |
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[Jan. 12th, 2009|12:02 am] |
*locks up the scrapyard after a full day of rearranging the office (been a bit slow on the actual scrapping front, what with the weather lately) and jumps in the 4x4 for the trip home*
*as planned, swings by Doc's place to pick up a rhubarb pie for the wife*
*lets himself in and calls down the hall, tugging his boots off and shaking the snow out of his dreads* Hey, you know your snowman's missing a head out there? |
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[Dec. 22nd, 2008|12:47 am] |
*it's a frigid Tuesday night in Buckleburgh, which means one thing—breakfast-for-dinner at Fat Fred's flapjack joint*
*coasts in with a gust of snowy wind and a chorus of jinglebells (courtesy of the welcome wreath), shutting the door firmly behind him* *breathlessly* Ho-lee crap, it's a monster out there. *pulls his hat off and shakes his hair out, waving hello to Fred and the girls behind the counter as he makes his way over to the table next to the Erumas tree*
*plonks down in his seat* *chipperly* Hey! Sorry I'm late. What'd I miss? You know it's, like, three degrees out? Man, I am starved. |
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sore
thoughtful
zen
hungry