[ open log! ]
WHO: Hardball and you!
WHERE: Um. The nearest Walgreens/out on the street.
WHEN: About thirty minutes after the initial power outage.
SUMMARY: A meeting of mutual 'freezing-our-butts-off'? Just whatever's clever!
FORMAT: Paragraph.
Christ, it was cold. Not even like, hey I should grab a jacket cold. It was more like, jesus motherfucker, my balls are going to freeze off if I don't touch base with a heater soon cold. Roger breathed out slow, hot air whooshing out onto his hands in a swirl of condensation before he rubbed them together, jumping up and down on the spot. He'd gotten the candles and blankets after the scared-stiff clerk finally agreed to let him go without a receipt (well, and after some healthy tugging and some lit up hands on his part); seriously, that guy wouldn't quit his bitching about how important receipts were to his taxes and -- dammit, he just wanted his freaking candles. The plastic bag swung loosely by his side as he stepped out onto the sidewalk, but it took a sec to place what was wrong -- without the dull glow of streetlights, the dark seemed almost tangible and needless to say? It freaked the hell out of Roger.
He closed his hands into fists for a moment, shutting his eyes and concentrating on letting all of his energy (all of the damn cold) flow into his clenched fingertips. Roger could feel the energy surge coming before he could see it in his hands, liquid lighting flowing through his veins before igniting in his palms. When he opened his hands, they glowed a fiery red and circled around them was a crackling ball of energy; much better than blowing and jumping up and down, for real. And hopefully, it'd be easier to hail a cab when the cabbie could actually see him.
Times like these were when he missed the camp issued jet packs with a burning passion. This was so uncool.
WHERE: Um. The nearest Walgreens/out on the street.
WHEN: About thirty minutes after the initial power outage.
SUMMARY: A meeting of mutual 'freezing-our-butts-off'? Just whatever's clever!
FORMAT: Paragraph.
Christ, it was cold. Not even like, hey I should grab a jacket cold. It was more like, jesus motherfucker, my balls are going to freeze off if I don't touch base with a heater soon cold. Roger breathed out slow, hot air whooshing out onto his hands in a swirl of condensation before he rubbed them together, jumping up and down on the spot. He'd gotten the candles and blankets after the scared-stiff clerk finally agreed to let him go without a receipt (well, and after some healthy tugging and some lit up hands on his part); seriously, that guy wouldn't quit his bitching about how important receipts were to his taxes and -- dammit, he just wanted his freaking candles. The plastic bag swung loosely by his side as he stepped out onto the sidewalk, but it took a sec to place what was wrong -- without the dull glow of streetlights, the dark seemed almost tangible and needless to say? It freaked the hell out of Roger.
He closed his hands into fists for a moment, shutting his eyes and concentrating on letting all of his energy (all of the damn cold) flow into his clenched fingertips. Roger could feel the energy surge coming before he could see it in his hands, liquid lighting flowing through his veins before igniting in his palms. When he opened his hands, they glowed a fiery red and circled around them was a crackling ball of energy; much better than blowing and jumping up and down, for real. And hopefully, it'd be easier to hail a cab when the cabbie could actually see him.
Times like these were when he missed the camp issued jet packs with a burning passion. This was so uncool.