Different Directions - [Risa, Day 2, Noonish]
After a conversation he never expected to have, nor was entirely sure how to grasp, Scotty did the only sane thing a man could do when he was in this situation: He went to bed.
Whatever part of his brain was wired that way it was came in handy in some situations. When he got into something, intently, he could tune out everything internal and external to a degree that was almost eerie. When it came to Basic, playing through the pain had never been an issue; he never acknowledged it, not when he was so intent on something else. For that matter, it had been that way for... at least his teen years. Maybe not before, but at least that long, he had become an expert at shoving aside everything in order to complete a job. Whatever the job.
Unfortunately, coming back down off of that intensity usually meant realizing: Aye, idiot, ye're messed up. What th' Hell were ye thinkin'?
This was one of those times. He'd just... run off at the mouth, and he couldn't even fathom why. He'd talked. He'd talked far more than he usually talked. It left him feeling kind of surreal, and kind of scared, and kind of relieved and really damn queasy. He had to duck off into more'n one public restroom; somewhere in that mess, he commented wryly inside of his own mind that the toilets of Risa would get more face-time from him probably than anyone else.
He didn't think too hard. It was impossible anyway; after he came back down off of that almost desperate raving (what else was it, but raving? Jesus, he sounded like a lunatic), his thoughts scattered in fifty different directions and he couldn't get them back in order. That left him halfway forgetting his way back to his hostel room, and having to stop repeatedly to get his bearings. But finally he made it, fumbling with the door lock a few times before getting it open, then dropping in his bed and curling his blanket around himself.
It was maybe his most sane motion of the day so far, but try as he might, he couldn't seem to regret going out for tea with the other Scott.
What do you do, when the door swings the other way?
He still didn't have any answers. Just a million more questions, and a flu.
Whatever part of his brain was wired that way it was came in handy in some situations. When he got into something, intently, he could tune out everything internal and external to a degree that was almost eerie. When it came to Basic, playing through the pain had never been an issue; he never acknowledged it, not when he was so intent on something else. For that matter, it had been that way for... at least his teen years. Maybe not before, but at least that long, he had become an expert at shoving aside everything in order to complete a job. Whatever the job.
Unfortunately, coming back down off of that intensity usually meant realizing: Aye, idiot, ye're messed up. What th' Hell were ye thinkin'?
This was one of those times. He'd just... run off at the mouth, and he couldn't even fathom why. He'd talked. He'd talked far more than he usually talked. It left him feeling kind of surreal, and kind of scared, and kind of relieved and really damn queasy. He had to duck off into more'n one public restroom; somewhere in that mess, he commented wryly inside of his own mind that the toilets of Risa would get more face-time from him probably than anyone else.
He didn't think too hard. It was impossible anyway; after he came back down off of that almost desperate raving (what else was it, but raving? Jesus, he sounded like a lunatic), his thoughts scattered in fifty different directions and he couldn't get them back in order. That left him halfway forgetting his way back to his hostel room, and having to stop repeatedly to get his bearings. But finally he made it, fumbling with the door lock a few times before getting it open, then dropping in his bed and curling his blanket around himself.
It was maybe his most sane motion of the day so far, but try as he might, he couldn't seem to regret going out for tea with the other Scott.
What do you do, when the door swings the other way?
He still didn't have any answers. Just a million more questions, and a flu.