Connor Safehouse, Virginia. Saturday.
John Preston woke up in an unfamiliar bed, sheets tangled around his legs, the naked rays of the sun penetrating the blinds. He blinked, bleary-eyed, and sat up, disoriented. The windows did not have any covering...he could see outside. Birds on a branch. Chirping.
This was not his room. This was...
He had not had a dream in some time. He needed his Interval. Quietly, he swept his legs free of the bedcoverings onto the rug on the floor, feeling the weave with his toes. The place seemed familiar, despite the colors. The EC-10 material, everywhere.
The gun hidden behind the medicine cabinet in the bathroom made one side of his mouth twitch almost into a smile. Almost predictable.
[Open! Visitable, phonecallable, IMable. Is from Equilibrium. mwahahaha]
This was not his room. This was...
He had not had a dream in some time. He needed his Interval. Quietly, he swept his legs free of the bedcoverings onto the rug on the floor, feeling the weave with his toes. The place seemed familiar, despite the colors. The EC-10 material, everywhere.
The gun hidden behind the medicine cabinet in the bathroom made one side of his mouth twitch almost into a smile. Almost predictable.
[Open! Visitable, phonecallable, IMable. Is from Equilibrium. mwahahaha]