Fixer-Uppers, Sunday
Oh, man, was Jim ever in a good mood today at the Fiver-Uppers. The island had moved again, and for all the creepiness in the world, nothing was ever going to change the fact that for the first time in ages, the weather was good enough for him to ride his solar surfer to work. Between the chill of the ice age and London's rain, he'd been having withdrawls. Just a bit.
A lot.
He was sitting up on the counter with his surfer propped up against it just in case he decided that he wanted to grab it and go for another ride during his lunch break or something. For the time being, he was toying here and there with smaller bits and pieces, trying to come up with some combination of Earth materials that would be able to score him a working miniature.
A bit unconsciously, he'd taken to whistling as he worked. It hadn't taken very much for the silence of this new place to start to get to him, surfer-related happiness aside.
[Open, OCD-free!]
A lot.
He was sitting up on the counter with his surfer propped up against it just in case he decided that he wanted to grab it and go for another ride during his lunch break or something. For the time being, he was toying here and there with smaller bits and pieces, trying to come up with some combination of Earth materials that would be able to score him a working miniature.
A bit unconsciously, he'd taken to whistling as he worked. It hadn't taken very much for the silence of this new place to start to get to him, surfer-related happiness aside.
[Open, OCD-free!]