In which SK owns our souls and we like it

[goodoldnick]

Nick trotted along behind Scott, trying to take in the jungle without getting left behind.  It was pretty intimidating, and Nick was glad he hadn't tried to find Glen on his own.  Might as well be looking for Dr. Livingston.  There was the occasional treehouse, as well as low-swooping parrots in many pretty colors.  Nick didn't think he wanted to

Comments

[mothersmucker]

Scott was busy trying to see the island with new eyes, to try and think of all the important questions that Nick was likely to ask. He seemed to be taking it pretty well, but Scott wasn't exactly surprised. If he'd woken up here after watching a bomb go off in his hands, he'd probably be pretty grateful. As crappy as the island could be sometimes, Scott was of the opinion that it still beat the Great Beyond, which Scott had sort of always imagined as the world's most smucked-up family reunion.

Yeah, if it means missing out on that shindig, Scott will happily give up his TGIF and cold beer.

Nick hands him the paper and Scott shakes his head, but also tacks on a shrug at the end. "I don't think so. I mean-- I imagine they're out there, but I don't know anyone who's been bit."

[goodoldnick]

It wasn't exactly reassuring, but Nick was sweltering and just wanted to be out of those goddamn sneakers so badly. He took them off and tucked his socks inside like the good do-bee he'd always been. Instantly he felt better, and took back the paper to inquire about something that hadn't caught his attention earlier, possibly due to the near drowning.

[What were you writing when I interrupted? Letter to the editor?]

[mothersmucker]

Scott's eyes skate over the paper, and he grins.

"No. Just... tryin' to write something." It's sort of weird how he's automatically chagrined by the question. Scott can't really sort out why. He's been calling himself a writer since he was old enough to make his own sandwiches (which on the old Landon homestead was pretty early on) and he's definitely been through worse dry spells. But then, when the going got tough, he was always able to boom to the story-pool.

Booming days are over, though, and Tabula Rasa is sort of a difficult place for a writer to be if he wants to avoid writing what would essentially be high class fan fiction. Scott keeps assuring himself that any day now he'll break out of the funk. No worries, not yet. "I used to be a writer," he adds, "back home."

[goodoldnick]

Just because Nick couldn't hear the tone of Scott's reply didn't mean that he couldn't sense the stress there. Used to be a writer back home meant he didn't think [or didn't know] he was one here. A lot about a person might get lost in translation like this, no job, no context, just you. It was a concept that Nick was used to by now; not too much of a context left in the wake of good old Captain Tripps, either.

[I used to be a sheriff, think that'll come in handy?]