[eight // action, open]
[It's Monday morning, and Gabriel is dressed for work.]
[He hates the suit; it's wool and itchy and dull brown, complete with puke green tie. It's the best of the lot in his closet though, sadly enough. There's a black and white houndstooth in the back that he's not going to touch unless threatened with death. Considering his stubbornness and the fact that here, death seems to be non-permanent (for the moment), that might not even work.]
[Normally the post comes after he leaves, but today he stops at the box and finds the flyer in. He reads it, then reads it again.]
[Hells... not again.]
[Instead of going to work, Gabriel ends up at the pub. If there's to be another test of will, he's going to get juiced up before it happens.]
[So, this is where he is when the afternoon rolls around, into his sixth glass of whiskey, and trying to make sense of a book of rotten poetry he'd picked up at the library on the way over. It was all rather amusing in a sick way, and he tried to pretend he wasn't in Mayfield but in New York or Surrey or even Kyoto, anywhere else but here, where the trapped tried to kill each other and the keepers played mindgames with them all. It wasn't working, so he took a seventh bourbon and tried to muddle through his book again.]