do I feel? well, sort of, but not
Fletcher Hadley has just walked out of Lake Michigan.
No, you don't get to know why. Sometimes, things just happen and people accept them and move on. Capice?
He looks completely unfazed, even in spite of the tear in his jacket and the blossoming bruise on his cheek and the fact that he's soaking wet and it's 45 fucking degrees, what the fuck.
If he wanted to freeze his bollocks off, he'd have gone back to Scotland months ago, thanks very much. Stupid almost-Winter.
He climbs the stairs back onto the pier and pulls a damp pack of cigarettes from his pocket, sighs loudly, and throws them into the lake. He does the same with phone, which is undoubtedly no longer functional at all, and his keys.
His keys.
"Fuck."
Elsewhere in Chicago-more specifically, in the Kashtta's laundry room-a dhole who responds to the name Maxwell Smart is curled up in someone's freshly-dried laundry.
It's warm and it smells like lilacs.
Someone should probably tell him that sleeping in a dryer is a REALLY BAD IDEA.
This is why dholes are endangered.
Daniel Faraday is also in the Kashtta this afternoon, but he's not hanging out in a dryer. Instead, he's leaning over the balcony overlooking the lobby, watching the people who come and go with dull eyes.
What he's really doing is looking out for people he knows. Members of Torchwood, mostly, but at this point, anyone will do.
Once upon a time, he wanted to run away from this place and never look back. Now, he needs this city more than ever.
He needs a purpose again, something to keep him busy. A distraction. Something. Someone.
It's been a long eight years.
And finally, Kenzie Douglas is in the library, doing her science homework. Since she has a pair of too-big headphones completely covering her ears, she hasn't yet noticed the screaming coming from across the room.
Valence electrons are fascinating.
No, you don't get to know why. Sometimes, things just happen and people accept them and move on. Capice?
He looks completely unfazed, even in spite of the tear in his jacket and the blossoming bruise on his cheek and the fact that he's soaking wet and it's 45 fucking degrees, what the fuck.
If he wanted to freeze his bollocks off, he'd have gone back to Scotland months ago, thanks very much. Stupid almost-Winter.
He climbs the stairs back onto the pier and pulls a damp pack of cigarettes from his pocket, sighs loudly, and throws them into the lake. He does the same with phone, which is undoubtedly no longer functional at all, and his keys.
His keys.
"Fuck."
Elsewhere in Chicago-more specifically, in the Kashtta's laundry room-a dhole who responds to the name Maxwell Smart is curled up in someone's freshly-dried laundry.
It's warm and it smells like lilacs.
Someone should probably tell him that sleeping in a dryer is a REALLY BAD IDEA.
This is why dholes are endangered.
Daniel Faraday is also in the Kashtta this afternoon, but he's not hanging out in a dryer. Instead, he's leaning over the balcony overlooking the lobby, watching the people who come and go with dull eyes.
What he's really doing is looking out for people he knows. Members of Torchwood, mostly, but at this point, anyone will do.
Once upon a time, he wanted to run away from this place and never look back. Now, he needs this city more than ever.
He needs a purpose again, something to keep him busy. A distraction. Something. Someone.
It's been a long eight years.
And finally, Kenzie Douglas is in the library, doing her science homework. Since she has a pair of too-big headphones completely covering her ears, she hasn't yet noticed the screaming coming from across the room.
Valence electrons are fascinating.