(no subject)
When life handed you lemons, you were supposed to try and make lemonaid. So what were you supposed to do when it handed you shit?
Stepping out onto the street Logan zipped up his sweatshirt as he started to walk, his gaze focused on the pavement and his own shooes as he made his way through the crowds. Maybe he should have been more uneasy or upset considering what had happened with Jack and John, but the truth was... he just didn't care anymore. Not about them, not about, well, much of anything, actually.
He looked Paler than usual, more gaunt and crooked as he headed down to the Underground. Hands deep in his pockets Logan sat alone on the train, silent and mostly oblivious to the world around him.
He wasn't sure where he was going, he hadn't made any plans. Maybe he should have called someone, Joe, Neil, Jack... Whoever. But he simply... hadn't. In fact, he hadn't for over a week, and the few times someone had tried to call him, he'd let the call go through to his voice mail, the messages stacking up as the little red light on his com blinked in frustration. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to them though, it wasn't like that at all, he just didn't know what to say.
The train stopped and Logan hardly glanced up as the doors opened and several more bodies scrambled on board. Some with backpacks, others with briefcases, and a handful who carried nothing at all. They were all heading somewhere though, they each had a destination, a final goal, and Logan couldn't help but envy that.
He couldn't remember what it felt like to have a purpose. A reason. Sometimes he couldn't remember how it felt to feel anything at all.
The train started to move again, and Logan ducked his head as he raked his fingers through his hair, waiting for a sign. Waiting for something to just... wake him up.
(Open to all. He's a little uneasy, but not in a bad mood.)
Stepping out onto the street Logan zipped up his sweatshirt as he started to walk, his gaze focused on the pavement and his own shooes as he made his way through the crowds. Maybe he should have been more uneasy or upset considering what had happened with Jack and John, but the truth was... he just didn't care anymore. Not about them, not about, well, much of anything, actually.
He looked Paler than usual, more gaunt and crooked as he headed down to the Underground. Hands deep in his pockets Logan sat alone on the train, silent and mostly oblivious to the world around him.
He wasn't sure where he was going, he hadn't made any plans. Maybe he should have called someone, Joe, Neil, Jack... Whoever. But he simply... hadn't. In fact, he hadn't for over a week, and the few times someone had tried to call him, he'd let the call go through to his voice mail, the messages stacking up as the little red light on his com blinked in frustration. It wasn't that he didn't want to talk to them though, it wasn't like that at all, he just didn't know what to say.
The train stopped and Logan hardly glanced up as the doors opened and several more bodies scrambled on board. Some with backpacks, others with briefcases, and a handful who carried nothing at all. They were all heading somewhere though, they each had a destination, a final goal, and Logan couldn't help but envy that.
He couldn't remember what it felt like to have a purpose. A reason. Sometimes he couldn't remember how it felt to feel anything at all.
The train started to move again, and Logan ducked his head as he raked his fingers through his hair, waiting for a sign. Waiting for something to just... wake him up.
(Open to all. He's a little uneasy, but not in a bad mood.)