02 | Action/Voice | Beds aren't doing their jobs of making me restful.

[fuckthemission]

[Doyle wakes up often in the middle of a dead sleep with his heart pounding and a swear word on standby, masked in a thin veil of sweat. It's times of the night like these that he slips up out of bed and paces around his room, working his arms and shoulders and leaning against his window until he's too cold to remain there. But if he travels back to his bed and lays back down, he feels smothered. Growls a 'shit', slips on his shoes and jacket, and goes outside to walk.

He's got a bandaged arm from a vampire trying to kill him two days beforehand—stitches and everything—but the thought of being hurt again is illogically pushed aside by the need for the dewy cool outdoors. Whatever. He could deal with vampires over persistent night terrors. It's why he slaps his hand against the windowsill in frustration and goes out for yet another night in a long string of nights.

It's his morning trip, right before the sun rises up over the distant canopy, that he finds something familiar in the shop: it's a sniper rifle scope, without the actual rifle. He rolls it in his hand, humming a sound of contentment. Just a harmless little spyglass as-is, but he appreciates having it. Doyle sits on the bench he'd appeared on two weeks ago and lazily stares through the scope at the people passing. Sorry, man, he feels like snooping on y'all.

When noon is creeping up on him he's out in the forest wandering. Can't do much until his arm's back in full commission, but he can at least go to the lake closest by and practice bouncing some stones across it, or perhaps use that little rifle scope to spy on the nature beyond the lake itself, or even go fishing like he's been working on these last few days (though it's a little less fun when you're working around said arm injury.

It's all slow and quiet and in a way meticulous, but he was alright with it. He simply needed something to occupy his hands with while he thought about things.]

[Voice]

This book is pretty damn good for asking a lot of pointless and not-so-pointless questions, ain't it? Good way to keep your mind focused. I'm sure some of you probably agree by now, especially the old-timers who've been here for a while... but see, the problem is, I'm complete shit at picking out decent questions. Why is the sky blue, what's the numbers for pi, why did the chicken cross the road, etc., etc.

So... how about... [he rubs his chin]

You ask me a question instead, and I'll try to get a good one to throw back at you; don't care what it is, as long as it keeps me occupied. A little company goes a long way. Besides, you guys probably got your own topics you'd rather shoot the breeze with, not my crappy attempts, huh?

[And then after this voice entry, more exploring of course, because Luceti's forests are pretty spacious.

After a while of boyscouting traveling he gets hungry and goes to eat at the restaurant, but sooner or later he'll get to the bar, because that's just a place he's been finding himself at lately. Sometimes he drinks a little, sometimes he drinks enough to get drunk, and other times he sits in the back and reads a book. Today it's a sensible glass of whiskey next to an old copy of First Blood, and he's thumbing quietly through it in no time while he's at the bar.

He'll shuffle on home, but no doubt end up on one of his nightly or morning walks yet again, with no real destination in mind.]

((ooc: it's dated for the 29th unless you wanna tinker with the date; lemme know.))

Comments

[fuckthemission]

Oh, but it's good to think about it. You can do some preemptive planning. Like... what if they turn me into a bigass dinosaur? Or what if they shrink me into a bug?

Strategizing's important, am I right?

[thelittlemacthatcould]

Yeah...

[He admits this almost reluctantly, furrowing his brow.]

But, geez, wouldn't it be kind a' crazy tryin' t'prepare for everythin'? Where'jya even start? It's helluva lot a' work.

[fuckthemission]

Nah, you just gotta have a mental plan. I mean, sure, it's probably smart if we all build bunkers...

Never know if they'll drop something on our heads.

[thelittlemacthatcould]

That's what happened 'round Halloween last year. ...Bunch a' people went t'hide in some underground tunnel when the moon came crashin' down. Ain't even kiddin'. It was real messed. Still makes me nervous thinkin' 'bout it now.

[fuckthemission]

[rrrrecord skipping noise]

The moon. As in, that big bright thing in the sky at night.

[thelittlemacthatcould]

...Yeah. [Mac baby has the most honest, expressive face ever.]

[fuckthemission]

... How?

[thelittlemacthatcould]

Iunno... it was jus' another one a' their experiments. All I know is that the moon wasn't no normal lookin' moon. It had a face an' it was starin' all of us down, lookin' like it was friggin' pissed. Every day, it jus' kept gettin' closer and closer.

[fuckthemission]

[He scoffs.]

The only possible reason they'd let that happen is to scare and scar the shit outta' us.

[thelittlemacthatcould]

It was pretty bad... even though they say that if y'die here, y'end up comin' back, a lot a' people were freakin' out.

[fuckthemission]

Well... at least it worked out in the end. [hm.] Maybe we should all invest in building some bunkers.

[thelittlemacthatcould]

I'd bring it up in an entry sometime or somethin'. Maybe somebody's been workin' on somethin' like that an' we jus' don' know it yet.

[fuckthemission]

Sounds like a plan. After all, can never be too careful. [He easily skips another stone, before glancing at Mac.] There's never really a decent pattern to when shit goes haywire, anyway.

[thelittlemacthatcould]

Yeah, pretty much.

[Dammit, he didn't catch his stone-flinging technique because he was too busy gazing thoughtfully at Doyle's profile.]

...Can y'throw another? [He cracks a rueful grin.] Sorry, wasn't payin' attention.

[fuckthemission]

[Pfffft. He holds out a stone.]

You wanna try to learn the basic form of it, firsthand?

[thelittlemacthatcould]

Sure. [He accepts the stone.] What do I do?

[fuckthemission]

It's all about the wrist flick and how you're letting it rest. [He demonstrates with another stone, slowly, showing the proper holding method. The way it rests on the fingers.] If you're going into it trying to lob it, there's no way in hell you'll get it right.

[thelittlemacthatcould]

[He watches Doyle carefully before trying to emulate his posture and throw to the best of his ability. It happens too fast for him to suck his breath in in anticipation.

Hm. It seems like it might have skipped slightly, but then there's a distinct bloop afterwards as the stone plunges in.]

Aw... well, I got a bit a' somethin' goin' on there. [He remarks laughingly, bending to scoop up another pebble into his palm.]

Gonna get this right, though. Jus' gotta keep tryin'!

[fuckthemission]

You just need to feel it out a little more. Throw it too soon and you're not giving it the right angle of bounce.

[He finds a smooth, flat rock.]

Make sure it's the right kind of rock, too. Nothing round'll do. Those just sink ASAP.

[thelittlemacthatcould]

Oh... thought you could do it with any small rock, pretty much.

[Crouching, he sifts through leaves and grass and dirt for a couple of flatter stones.]

How's these? [Just look at those blue, approval-seeking eyes. LOOK AT THEM, DAMN YOU.] Pretty okay?

[fuckthemission]

Yeah—this one and this one, those are the best. [He motions, before snooping for his own.] You don't want any weird bumps, just a smooth top and bottom. Otherwise it'll just fuck up your whole program, y'know?

[thelittlemacthatcould]

Gotchya.

[He hefts the stones in his hand, his gaze turning thoughtful.]

Didjya figure all this by y'self or did somebody teach ya?

[fuckthemission]

Figured it out. I used to live around a lot of water as a kid and lakes were pretty routine, so after a long time of rock-throwing you start to pick up things.

[thelittlemacthatcould]

Makes sense.

[Mac flicks out a stone and it bounces once across the water's surface before sinking.]

Oh shit! [He blurts out excitedly.] It worked!

[fuckthemission]

[Doyle grins at that.]

Atta' guy, that's the spirit. Looks like you're already on your way.