Aedan feels a (fuadan) wrote in repose, @ 2016-03-04 07:31:00 |
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Entry tags: | *narrative, faol crowe |
Narrative: Faol Crowe
Who: Faol
What: Catching up
Where: Home
When: Currentish
Warnings/Rating:Nada
If asked, Faol would have said that the mist hadn't affected him, that he spent those days locked safely in his apartment, playing Call of Duty until his arms and hands ached from sustained controller use. No one needed to know the truth - that he had started out at his apartment, where he cleaned and loaded every gun he owned before packing it into the trunk and heading out of town. He was almost at the Mexico border when reality rubber-banded back into his consciousness and he started the drive back home.
That mist, that was some awful fucking stuff.
His nightmares were not a place for a leisurely stroll and home, well, home meant taking double shifts at the laundry. Not because he needed the money - he didn't - but it kept him distracted from his empty walls and the playstation on the floor with his TV on an old crate rescued from the alleyway behind one bar or another. It was a lot like his first apartment in DC, the one he'd had when he first started working and he was a wet behind the ears green agent.
It was another life then. He didn't have to see the mothers that came in with sad eyes from whatever their home was, or with their third-hand books, spines so cracked it was hard to read the titles. He didn't have to yell at the teenagers that lingered on the premises, or not to stick their fucking bubblegum under the seats, here's a fucking trashcan, or for fuck's sake do not put a can of soda in the dryer and see what happens. His temples hadn't throbbed at the end of the day then the way they did after two shifts here, and he hadn't done weeks of back-to=back doubles in order to go home and fall into a dreamless sleep when he finally left work.
There had been less to forget and now, now doubles weren't cutting it. Something more was needed. Something else. Snatching his keys off the otherwise bare countertop, he headed out. He could find something, even at this time of night.