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[Repose Dock: Misha & Nameless]
Who: Misha and Nameless (Not!Adrian)
What: Meeting
Where: The dock, just beyond makeout point
When: While Damian & Eddie are on the island, night
Warnings/Rating: Who knows
Misha, he was real worked up some. He'd tried to be good 'bout hiding it while on the phone with Damian, but he was real worked up some. Wasn't just the fact that he'd woken up in a real nasty place with a drunken old woman and two drugged teenagers entwined like the cover of a Harlequin romance, wasn't just that. See, Misha, he didn't recall how he'd gotten there any, and he knew there were hours missing. He'd been asleep, so it was real hard to know precisely how many hours were missing, but he knew there were some. He knew, on account of his shoes being freshly dirty, like he'd been walking in earth and grass. His clothing smelled real strange, and not just from that apartment with the drugged and drunk folks. He smelled like the city and green all tangled, and he felt foreign, like he'd been out of his own skin, which wasn't so. But he didn't feel himself, and he was worried he was losing his mind again.
But that wasn't the main thing. The main thing was Damian, off on that island and so damn sure he didn't have a thing to fear. Misha, he wasn't real certain how much of that was bravado, and how much of that the other boy really and truly believed, but he was worried 'bout it real awful.
Which explained why he was sitting on the edge of the dock, legs hanging off, and nothing to distract him from the island he could see clear in the distance. He wondered 'bout swimming, if a soul could make it out there with nothing but paddling their arms, but he reckoned it was a deceptive looking distance. Didn't folks drown like that all the time? Thinking things looked real close, but it turned out to be real false.
There wasn't a hint of light in the sky yet, and the boy sat huddled in some skinny jeans and a t-shirt with a baby blue hoodie over. The hoodie was open, the hoodie pulled over blond hair that had been mussed plenty by Misha's hand. The boy wished he smoked just then, on account of it would give him something to do with his damn hands. As it was, they were gripping the edge of the dock hard enough to take slivers 'neath the skin, and the string from his hoodie was being chewed flat by his teeth, but Misha, he didn't notice any. He didn't have any earbuds in, on account of wanting to hear if any noises happened, but he was humming songs 'bout defeating the Huns, from Mulan, quiet. He reckoned he might go mad if it was too damn still.
What: Meeting
Where: The dock, just beyond makeout point
When: While Damian & Eddie are on the island, night
Warnings/Rating: Who knows
Misha, he was real worked up some. He'd tried to be good 'bout hiding it while on the phone with Damian, but he was real worked up some. Wasn't just the fact that he'd woken up in a real nasty place with a drunken old woman and two drugged teenagers entwined like the cover of a Harlequin romance, wasn't just that. See, Misha, he didn't recall how he'd gotten there any, and he knew there were hours missing. He'd been asleep, so it was real hard to know precisely how many hours were missing, but he knew there were some. He knew, on account of his shoes being freshly dirty, like he'd been walking in earth and grass. His clothing smelled real strange, and not just from that apartment with the drugged and drunk folks. He smelled like the city and green all tangled, and he felt foreign, like he'd been out of his own skin, which wasn't so. But he didn't feel himself, and he was worried he was losing his mind again.
But that wasn't the main thing. The main thing was Damian, off on that island and so damn sure he didn't have a thing to fear. Misha, he wasn't real certain how much of that was bravado, and how much of that the other boy really and truly believed, but he was worried 'bout it real awful.
Which explained why he was sitting on the edge of the dock, legs hanging off, and nothing to distract him from the island he could see clear in the distance. He wondered 'bout swimming, if a soul could make it out there with nothing but paddling their arms, but he reckoned it was a deceptive looking distance. Didn't folks drown like that all the time? Thinking things looked real close, but it turned out to be real false.
There wasn't a hint of light in the sky yet, and the boy sat huddled in some skinny jeans and a t-shirt with a baby blue hoodie over. The hoodie was open, the hoodie pulled over blond hair that had been mussed plenty by Misha's hand. The boy wished he smoked just then, on account of it would give him something to do with his damn hands. As it was, they were gripping the edge of the dock hard enough to take slivers 'neath the skin, and the string from his hoodie was being chewed flat by his teeth, but Misha, he didn't notice any. He didn't have any earbuds in, on account of wanting to hear if any noises happened, but he was humming songs 'bout defeating the Huns, from Mulan, quiet. He reckoned he might go mad if it was too damn still.
