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Tuesday, March 18th, 2008
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9:29p - OTA - Remy? Piet? Anyone likely to be on the roof.
St John was not one for fanfares.
He more or less snuck back into the mansion, duffle on his back, a couple of days of beard growth and a new set of clothes on his back.
Useful thing, guilt. Apparently his Dad felt bad enough to buy him some jeans and a couple of shirts. Or maybe that was just so he didn't freak out the rest of the family, all respectable and clean.
He dumped his bag in his room, running slender fingers through his hair. He was tempted to go find Remy, his friend's company likely to make him forget. But equally, he wasn't ready to pretend it was fucking fine for his family to cast him aside because he wasn't 'useful'.
Sliding his bedroom window open, he slung a leg over the windowsill, clambering up and onto the roof. Years of practice made it look easy. Pulling his cigarettes out of a pocket, he lit one, first exhale more of a sigh as he palmed a small flame.
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