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entrancelogs2010-11-13 12:32 am
kindly-done.livejournal.com) wrote in entrancelogs2010-11-13 12:32 am
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Who: Jack Ryan (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kindly_done) and Augustus Sinclair (worldentire)
Where: Sinclair's room
When: A day, maybe two after the fear event
Rating: I can't imagine it going over a light PG-13 for discussion of violence and maybe swearing
Summary:Tie monopolizes V's threading time Jack has a worse-than-usual fit of post-event wangst and goes to talk about it to someone he didn't horribly kill.
the Story:
Jack has been sleeping on the beach. He still has sand in his shoes, tracking it grittily down the hallway as he shuffles along to Sinclair's room. Somehow, he can't seem to stomach going to anyone else: Elaine he'll forgive eventually, but thinking of Delta mindless and shambling leaves him tongue-tied, and the thought of speaking to Alex or Bhamba is too terrifying to contemplate. Sinclair, though...he's always got something to say, and if he doesn't, he'll have liquor and cigarettes and companionship. And Jack has no memory of harming him.
He stops in front of the door and looks up, hollow-eyed, into whatever security lens Sinclair has positioned up there at the moment. He's making an effort to appear less distraught than he is, but it's costing him a lot; he's holding his shoulders in painful-looking tension, and though he's dry-eyed, he lets out the occasional sharp inward gasp of someone who has been crying for a long time, and whose diaphragm has simply become too accustomed to the sobs to stop.
Slowly, as if his brain isn't quite connecting to his body, he raises his fist to knock.
kindly_done) and Augustus Sinclair (worldentire)Where: Sinclair's room
When: A day, maybe two after the fear event
Rating: I can't imagine it going over a light PG-13 for discussion of violence and maybe swearing
Summary:
the Story:
Jack has been sleeping on the beach. He still has sand in his shoes, tracking it grittily down the hallway as he shuffles along to Sinclair's room. Somehow, he can't seem to stomach going to anyone else: Elaine he'll forgive eventually, but thinking of Delta mindless and shambling leaves him tongue-tied, and the thought of speaking to Alex or Bhamba is too terrifying to contemplate. Sinclair, though...he's always got something to say, and if he doesn't, he'll have liquor and cigarettes and companionship. And Jack has no memory of harming him.
He stops in front of the door and looks up, hollow-eyed, into whatever security lens Sinclair has positioned up there at the moment. He's making an effort to appear less distraught than he is, but it's costing him a lot; he's holding his shoulders in painful-looking tension, and though he's dry-eyed, he lets out the occasional sharp inward gasp of someone who has been crying for a long time, and whose diaphragm has simply become too accustomed to the sobs to stop.
Slowly, as if his brain isn't quite connecting to his body, he raises his fist to knock.
*legit*, son. Legit creepin'.
no subject
And after that, he just looks at Sinclair and doesn't say anything at all, because he knows the last time he got caught was really and truly the last time, and what can he say to that?