|Q (__q__) wrote in spinningcompass,|
@ 2013-01-17 21:19:00
|Entry tags:||!closed, !plot|
Who? Q, Samir, 007
Where? Jail and everything after
When? Thursday night
What? Q's prison break, wandering and reclamation. Exciting details to follow when I think of them.
Rating? Possibly high
Status? Closed, ongoing.
It occurs to Q after he's sprinted about half a mile that this was a good idea to begin with and it no longer is. Because it's cold and he has nothing warm and he hasn't eaten or drunk sufficiently for a week and once this adrenaline stops he's going to be hungry and cold and tired. And it's the middle of the night. And he has no idea where he is, what direction he just ran in, or where he's going.
So he's probably going to die out here. And that isn't a good thing. That isn't in the plan. The plan had gone 'pick lock, sneak, pick lock, run, profit'. Profit is far, far away.
His breath is visible in front of his face and he's trembling for so many reasons.
"Shit," he curses, wrapping his arms around himself and realising he didn't even grab a bloody phone on the way out. He's signed his own death warrant like a complete prat. "Shit, shit. Shit," Q thinks he should run again, but then he could be going even further away from safety. He needs somewhere to sleep until it's lighter at least. He's really cocked up. Didn't think this through. Didn't wait for his cell mate. Things could have improved slightly with company. Supernatural company.
"Shit." It really is cold.