Connor (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} leconnortemple) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} vas_captio_rpg,@ 2009-12-06 02:02:00 |
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Who: Connor Temple and Kimberly Corman
What: Look, she's not dead!
When: Bright and early in the morning
Where: Their library hideaway
Rating: Slap a PG-13 on it for safekeeping
Status: Active
He was still reeling. Sure, it had been more than 24 hours, but that didn't stop it from hurting. It had been weeks since Cutter, and months since Stephen, and those still hurt. Well... Less Stephen now that he was...well, here. But it still felt weird. And now, seeing it the way he had, unable to do a thing, had been downright painful. It had felt as awful as if he were sitting by Cutter's side, being told to do nothing all over again. Only Kimberly hadn't told him to do nothing. Well, she had. Sort of. But only if Fate were playing its part. That wasn't fate. That was cold, calculated, twisted and manipulative murder.
Connor slowly and painfully woke up from his position where he'd clearly just been dropped off wherever the powers that be had chosen. Fuckers. The others that had been in that stupid pharmacy with him were there, too. Was he going to stop and chat? No. As soon as he got his bearings, figured out where he was, and grabbed his well-loved fedora off the ground, he took off.
At first he wasn't sure where to go. Going back to the gym sounded possible. Go back to where he was at least somewhat safe, where Chris and the others usually were. Or maybe he could go by the clock tower, where they'd first met. A proper mourning, really.
But his body must have known before he did where he was going. It would hurt, but he had to go back to their saferoom. The place he'd worked so hard on for her, to keep her safe. The place where only a few nights before, he'd lay curled at her side, hoping she was warm enough and worrying about the next day. Even walking in there would make him feel about two inches tall, but he had no choice, really. His journal was in there and what few supplies he had.
The door to the library made an extra loud squeak in the early morning silence and Connor froze before realizing no one was actually around for it to bother. With a mournful sigh, he walked the rest of the way inside, glancing towards the office they'd been using. He couldn't do it. Not yet. So he wandered instead. Browsing the shelves, glancing over books that hadn't entirely molded and fallen apart. Maybe one day he'd get the urge to actually read one. Maybe.
What: Look, she's not dead!
When: Bright and early in the morning
Where: Their library hideaway
Rating: Slap a PG-13 on it for safekeeping
Status: Active
He was still reeling. Sure, it had been more than 24 hours, but that didn't stop it from hurting. It had been weeks since Cutter, and months since Stephen, and those still hurt. Well... Less Stephen now that he was...well, here. But it still felt weird. And now, seeing it the way he had, unable to do a thing, had been downright painful. It had felt as awful as if he were sitting by Cutter's side, being told to do nothing all over again. Only Kimberly hadn't told him to do nothing. Well, she had. Sort of. But only if Fate were playing its part. That wasn't fate. That was cold, calculated, twisted and manipulative murder.
Connor slowly and painfully woke up from his position where he'd clearly just been dropped off wherever the powers that be had chosen. Fuckers. The others that had been in that stupid pharmacy with him were there, too. Was he going to stop and chat? No. As soon as he got his bearings, figured out where he was, and grabbed his well-loved fedora off the ground, he took off.
At first he wasn't sure where to go. Going back to the gym sounded possible. Go back to where he was at least somewhat safe, where Chris and the others usually were. Or maybe he could go by the clock tower, where they'd first met. A proper mourning, really.
But his body must have known before he did where he was going. It would hurt, but he had to go back to their saferoom. The place he'd worked so hard on for her, to keep her safe. The place where only a few nights before, he'd lay curled at her side, hoping she was warm enough and worrying about the next day. Even walking in there would make him feel about two inches tall, but he had no choice, really. His journal was in there and what few supplies he had.
The door to the library made an extra loud squeak in the early morning silence and Connor froze before realizing no one was actually around for it to bother. With a mournful sigh, he walked the rest of the way inside, glancing towards the office they'd been using. He couldn't do it. Not yet. So he wandered instead. Browsing the shelves, glancing over books that hadn't entirely molded and fallen apart. Maybe one day he'd get the urge to actually read one. Maybe.