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71 Serendipity, Thursday Afternoon
Jul. 16th, 2009 09:10 pmMitchell hadn't burst into song or dance all day; whatever bug was hitting the island had passed him by completely for whatever reason, not that he even knew. He wasn't even in any mood to keep himself busy with something immature, such as making a mess to spite his roommate.
It wasn't a bad day. It wasn't a good day. It was just a day, and he was draped over the couch with the CD player on at a medium volume, smoking and gazing at the window. Thinking, perhaps, about a few things - thinking very much not about the concept of running away, and whether that was what he was doing. Thinking not about if he'd manage it, or anything of the ilk.
Simple thoughts about the spin of the universe. A hobbyist's touch if you stuck around for long enough. You got bored with violence sometimes, given a long enough timeframe. Not forever, but it stopped being something... inherent in the general scheme of it.
Or perhaps it simply made him even more dangerous. That was something he didn't want to think about, either.
So he tapped his hand, cigarette and all, gently against his knee on the beat of the music. "In a foreign town with a morning sound man, I can find my way around."
He took a long drag of his cigarette as the music played on.
"Cos in three days I'll be out of here, and it's not a day too soon..."
Mitchell was over a hundred years old. He didn't need a magic bug to distract his days, and he certainly didn't need it to amplify the sound of Johnny Cash's 'Hurt' or its like in his ears.
[[ somewhat 'stablishy, but open for SP to any visitors or the roomie ]]
It wasn't a bad day. It wasn't a good day. It was just a day, and he was draped over the couch with the CD player on at a medium volume, smoking and gazing at the window. Thinking, perhaps, about a few things - thinking very much not about the concept of running away, and whether that was what he was doing. Thinking not about if he'd manage it, or anything of the ilk.
Simple thoughts about the spin of the universe. A hobbyist's touch if you stuck around for long enough. You got bored with violence sometimes, given a long enough timeframe. Not forever, but it stopped being something... inherent in the general scheme of it.
Or perhaps it simply made him even more dangerous. That was something he didn't want to think about, either.
So he tapped his hand, cigarette and all, gently against his knee on the beat of the music. "In a foreign town with a morning sound man, I can find my way around."
He took a long drag of his cigarette as the music played on.
"Cos in three days I'll be out of here, and it's not a day too soon..."
Mitchell was over a hundred years old. He didn't need a magic bug to distract his days, and he certainly didn't need it to amplify the sound of Johnny Cash's 'Hurt' or its like in his ears.
[[ somewhat 'stablishy, but open for SP to any visitors or the roomie ]]
