James "Jem" Stanton (jem_not_jim) wrote in reality_dome, @ 2013-11-11 21:01:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | ~delaney raines, ~james stanton |
Arriving
Characters: Jem, Delaney
When: Monday, 12:43 PM
Location: Kitchen
Warnings/Rating: None anticipated
Summary: Jem arrives and stumbles downstairs for some lunch
Status: Complete
Jem woke slowly to light that was all wrong. He blinked his eyes a few times before lifting a hand that felt strangely heavy to rub at his face. Usually, he was out of bed moments after he opened his eyes, but he felt incredibly logy. The drugs, he was sure. Lifting his arms, he searched them for the injection site and found it in the crook of his elbow. He rubbed at it lightly before he sat up slowly. His head swam, but he figured a shower and maybe some aspirin would take care of that. He swung his legs out of bed and sat on the edge of it for a minute. His elbows braced on his thighs, and he held his head in his hands for a moment or two before he lifted it and sighed. A glance to the alarm clock told him it was almost noon, and he exhaled. "Christ," he muttered. When was the last time he'd slept in that late? Even 9 was too late to get up. Even lately ... Jem turned his eyes to the window, then moved to lift the shade. It looked nice enough outside. Grass, trees, a forest. Maybe he'd go out later and take a walk. He wanted some time to get himself together, anyway. Moving away from the window, he checked the doors until he found the one that led to the bathroom. Letting himself inside, he looked around and checked the drawers and cabinets before moving to the shower. After drying off and studying his reflection in the mirror, Jem crossed back to his room to get dressed. He slid on his boxers before pulling a pair of his pants. He gazed down at the mottled brown, green, and tan fabric and wondered if he should even be wearing them. Pulling on a plain grey tee-shirt, he tucked his dog tags inside of it. The outline could be seen through the fabric, but he wasn't concerned. He could lie. He could pretend that his military career wasn't dead. Running his hand over them once, Jem sighed before he moved toward the door to the hall. He still didn't feel completely coherent, but he had to eat and he was guessing food was outside of the room. He glanced around the hallway, noting the neatly numbered but otherwise identical doors. He turned to check the number on his, committing it to memory before he moved to the end of the hall and down the stairs. He wasn't at war, he knew that, but training was training and training dictated he assess his environment before settling down. So he made his way through the entire house, checking inside cabinets and behind any closed doors. When he'd satisfied himself about the status of the house, he moved into the kitchen to see what the story was there. After going through the contents of the cabinet, he settled on a sandwich. Pulling the meats and condiments out of the fridge, Jem found the bread in a breadbox and set about making his lunch. His motions were slower than he would have liked, and he knew he was still recovering from the sedative. He should be fine tomorrow, and he was looking forward to that. In the meantime, he intended to eat, and then meet some of the other people he was sharing a house with. |