230, afternoon
Jake was sprawling on the couch playing a fight game. He was staring at the screen in deep concentration. That stupid chirpy little girly thing was going down, damnit.
His rose from Annette had been stuck in among his pulp novels, and Krycek's flowers had ended up in an ugly mug. There was an open, abandoned sketchbook on the bed, an open equally abandoned laptop on the floor, three pulp books on the desk, and four empty mugs that had obviously contained coffee at one point had been abandoned wherever Jake had happened to be when he'd finished the drink. It was possible that he'd been having trouble focusing.
ooc: open!
His rose from Annette had been stuck in among his pulp novels, and Krycek's flowers had ended up in an ugly mug. There was an open, abandoned sketchbook on the bed, an open equally abandoned laptop on the floor, three pulp books on the desk, and four empty mugs that had obviously contained coffee at one point had been abandoned wherever Jake had happened to be when he'd finished the drink. It was possible that he'd been having trouble focusing.
ooc: open!