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[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 ofboyscouting 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.))
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
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.))
