vii (luckiestnumber) wrote in rooms, @ 2014-08-04 02:41:00 |
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Entry tags: | !marvel comics, *log, liam roberts, seven morgan |
Log: Marvel, Liam/Seven
Seven had hopped in the car and made the drive over to the address before he had enough time to get in his own head about it. Start wondering about whether or not this was a good idea, and he was at risk of wrenching his Mustang’s steering wheel right back around and pointing its nose toward home. He didn’t want that. That fact was a hell of lot more clear than the bizarre unknown of what he did want that was living in his chest tonight, nudging his heartbeat north in the direction of his windpipe and making his foot sit just a little heavier on the accelerator. He wanted a cigarette but only had an empty pack in the car, crumpled up on the floor between his feet, and his thumbs tapped out a jumpy sort of rhythm in time to the song that was playing out of the radio.
Can’t break free from the things that you do...
The quick exit meant that he hadn’t changed out of the suit that he’d worn out to dinner with one of his clients, although the jacket had been discarded in a pile on the passenger seat. (A quick glance in the rearview betrayed his long hair in a state, sticking up in places instead of combed back neatly to the nape of his neck. He didn’t care.) The client was a hotel guy, and hotel guys loved to spend money on booze and women in that particular order. Seven wasn’t drunk, per se -- but he also wasn’t sure that he could legally be operating a motor vehicle at this particular point in time. The windows were down because it was a hot night in New York, but even the wind that whipped through the car didn’t pull away the smell of bourbon on his breath. That was a job for the handful of mints that he popped in his mouth as he pulled into the visitor parking of Liam’s apartment complex, glancing down at the address written on the palm of his hand in red Sharpie.
I wanna walk but I run back to you...
A woman stepping out to walk her dog let Seven into the building so that he didn’t have to buzz up, and from there it didn’t take long to ride the elevator up to the right floor and find the apartment number. He knocked and fidgeted. Pushed up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. Ran one hand over his hair.