Chuck Shurley: that beardy dude with the laptop. (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} capriciousgod) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} wariscoming,@ 2010-12-21 00:12:00 |
 |
|||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| Entry tags: | chuck shurley, jo harvelle-shurley |
Who? The Shurleys!
What? Jo telling him The Seekrit
Where? The Roadhouse, apartment upstairs
When? Backdated to late Sunday night.
Rating? Nothing terrifying. Lots of angst and flailing, probably.
Scrolling through pages of black words on white, Chuck frowned slightly, chewing on the edge of his lip while he skimmed the text there, blue eyes behind thick black glasses focused and flicking back and forth, trying to catch the frayed ends of the story he’d once written and dismissed in favor of his Supernatural series, never knowing he’d turned down fiction for reality. Now, he knew better, and he was close to making his wish to have a writing career - outside of prophesy - again.
It looked like this unfinished story wasn’t going to go anywhere, now. Something about a boy who talked to trees, and he couldn’t remember why he’d started writing it in the first place. Probably he’d been drunk when he came up with the idea, and thought it would make for a nice break from the Winchesters and their insane levels of angst. Which, you know, it wasn’t hard to write something less angsty than something that had to do with the brothers, but whatever. This wasn’t going to be anything useful.
He closed the document and looked away from the screen for a moment, rolling his neck and taking his glasses off to scrub at his eyes with one hand. It was getting kinda late, and he figured Jo would be coming up to bed as soon as she’d delegated whatever else was left to do for the night to Ash. It was Sunday, not one of the busiest nights at the bar, what with normal sane people having work in the morning, so there was rarely a whole lot to do after a Sunday night. Or at least, not in comparison to a Friday or Saturday night.
The past two days, Jo had been acting kind of... off. Not, like, seriously off, or anything, he probably wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t around her so much most of the time. She was good at pretending to be fine. But he’d noticed. It wasn’t big things, she was just slightly quieter, a little more tense. He was a little worried, but he wasn’t going to push it - for all he knew, it was just that she didn’t feel well, or something. Which would suck, sure, but he didn’t want to bug her about it.
He set the laptop to shut down, pushing to his feet and moving to the rabbits’ cage, poking his fingers in and petting at the soft fur, pulling the cloth over the cage to keep them warmer. Then there was winding up cables and shoving them into the laptop case, carrying that and the computer into the bedroom to put it away (because, yeah, he used to leave it out all the time, but with rabbits around? He was not even gonna take a chance they could get out and destroy his power cords, seriously), closing the closet and turning to offer a smile when he heard Jo coming up the stairs.
It looked like this unfinished story wasn’t going to go anywhere, now. Something about a boy who talked to trees, and he couldn’t remember why he’d started writing it in the first place. Probably he’d been drunk when he came up with the idea, and thought it would make for a nice break from the Winchesters and their insane levels of angst. Which, you know, it wasn’t hard to write something less angsty than something that had to do with the brothers, but whatever. This wasn’t going to be anything useful.
He closed the document and looked away from the screen for a moment, rolling his neck and taking his glasses off to scrub at his eyes with one hand. It was getting kinda late, and he figured Jo would be coming up to bed as soon as she’d delegated whatever else was left to do for the night to Ash. It was Sunday, not one of the busiest nights at the bar, what with normal sane people having work in the morning, so there was rarely a whole lot to do after a Sunday night. Or at least, not in comparison to a Friday or Saturday night.
The past two days, Jo had been acting kind of... off. Not, like, seriously off, or anything, he probably wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t around her so much most of the time. She was good at pretending to be fine. But he’d noticed. It wasn’t big things, she was just slightly quieter, a little more tense. He was a little worried, but he wasn’t going to push it - for all he knew, it was just that she didn’t feel well, or something. Which would suck, sure, but he didn’t want to bug her about it.
He set the laptop to shut down, pushing to his feet and moving to the rabbits’ cage, poking his fingers in and petting at the soft fur, pulling the cloth over the cage to keep them warmer. Then there was winding up cables and shoving them into the laptop case, carrying that and the computer into the bedroom to put it away (because, yeah, he used to leave it out all the time, but with rabbits around? He was not even gonna take a chance they could get out and destroy his power cords, seriously), closing the closet and turning to offer a smile when he heard Jo coming up the stairs.