71 Serendipity Street, Monday Morning
Mitchell had woken up with a crick in his neck, somewhere out on the deck of the dorms. He hadn't gone through anything like that since... oh, at least the eighties.
Horrible time.
He'd taken a deep, suddenly-instictive-again breath of air - two, in fact, and then three, until he realised that it gave him neither relief nor pain to do so. And that's when it all came flooding back.
In the early morn he'd dragged himself across the streets, through Fandom (stopping briefly to pick up some coffee at JGoB's) and to his house. He fumbled with the keys on the door; repression didn't fall well with what felt like a hangover and creaking joints. He flung open the door and made it inside, dragged a beer out of the fridge and fell down onto the couch.
He needed several hours of mindless television and moping wallowing to deal with this. Or preferably, not deal with it at all.
[[ open if you have reason to bug him at home, sure ]]
Horrible time.
He'd taken a deep, suddenly-instictive-again breath of air - two, in fact, and then three, until he realised that it gave him neither relief nor pain to do so. And that's when it all came flooding back.
In the early morn he'd dragged himself across the streets, through Fandom (stopping briefly to pick up some coffee at JGoB's) and to his house. He fumbled with the keys on the door; repression didn't fall well with what felt like a hangover and creaking joints. He flung open the door and made it inside, dragged a beer out of the fridge and fell down onto the couch.
He needed several hours of mindless television and moping wallowing to deal with this. Or preferably, not deal with it at all.
[[ open if you have reason to bug him at home, sure ]]