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[i_invented_dice]

[nick / name]: Jansen
[personal LJ name]: n/a
[other characters currently played]: The Tenth Doctor | Doctor Who | am_i_being_rude
[e-mail]: jamiemckrimmon [at] gmail [dot] com
[AIM / messenger]: ga11imaufry

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[i_invented_dice]

[third person / log sample]:Harry was a little more... Shall we say, 'scatterbrained' than usual today. He was in to open the shop as a favour to Jonesy, and had effectively been arms and legs and more occasionally mouth a-kimbo since he'd woken up. The way over here - he'd had to go pick up something from some place he'd already forgotten being to only two hours ago - had been a combination of walking, falling, and awkwardly sort of doing both at the same time. Actually being in the shop had admittedly calmed him down a little bit, but partially inversely made it look and feel as though he were more frenetic than before, since now there was an enclosed space thing to be concerned with.

Having already nearly knocked over a shelf, Harry was currently very concerned with space. If he had to put a bookshelf back up to rights and reorganise all the books that had fallen off it, he would effectively be able to say goodbye to and of the other things he might have only in passing wanted to do today. That, and he just wanted to not leave things in a state for Jonesy. Jonesy was a cool guy. He liked Jonesy. From what he could tell, most people did. The universe liked Jonesy. Harry suspected it had something to do with how much fun it was to say 'Jonesy'. People who had names that were awkward to get out or sounded odd or Germanic tended to have a harder time with popularity, he thought. Unless. Unless you could nickname them. Then the field was even. Actually Jonesy was in itself a nickname, and since the man's first name was 'Mortimer', he supposed that all of this matched his just-now-created-theory. Two points for Harry.

Given the proximity issues he was having with solid things today, he was doing most of his checking from a relatively safe distance. It was much more difficult to knock bookshelves over when you were standing a full two feet away from them, squinting at the book titles, owing purely to your not-being-close-enough-to-them-to-knock-them-over. It was like trying to attack castles with marshmallows and cinnamon rolls - you wouldn't make a dent but it would be sort of amusing to watch you try, and all the people/things that everyone secretly wanted to be around would eventually fail and go do something else. ...Something like that, anyway. His simile got away from him.

So, all in all, a fairly normal day in the bookstore. Shortly hereafter he would finish the crosschecking he was looking at and actually just start being a helpful bookstore owner by sitting in one of the chairs reading a book and answering questions if anyone happened to want to ask someone who looked like another customer just there to enjoy a novel of whatever their particular preference happened to be. Today he planned on reading a selection of Calvin and Hobbes, but that was only because he'd finished reading all the mystery books last time he'd played shop owner and for some reason they'd left him needing the nice grounding presence of mind that simple pranks tended to provide. It was like some sort of obligation to his own motor neurons.

Having finished all the things mentioned though, rather than either Calvin or Hobbes, the first person Harry set eyes on was Gabe, somewhat sullenly wandering around in that manner that most indie directors tended to do, and particularly indie directors who were Gabe, who Harry thought sort of had the angry indie director thing down probably in some former life as well as this one.