(no subject)
Who: JD, Paddy, and OPEN. (Multiple threads are encouraged.)
Where: The Infirmary
What: Killing time during the death toll.
Warnings: I'll edit this later.
Tap, tap, tap. The sounds of JD’s fine point pencil smacking against his sketch pad could be heard throughout the infirmary. His inspiration to draw had been cut slim since his death and now all that lie on the particular page was the shaded outline of a construction worker’s cap. Not exactly what he called art and he had no idea where he was going with it, just that it was there. The rest of his pages in the book were much the same, shady outlines of unfinished things. He felt like all of his creativity had just oozed out of his neck during the flood.
Every once in a while Tony would come over and lay beside him, but JD didn’t say much. Things were still awkward and tense and it hurt to talk, his throat was hoarse. He appreciated the body warmth and the sense of comfort having him near brought but he wasn’t okay. He felt displaced. He hated it.
JD tapped his pencil against the pad a few more times before turning the page and starting soft new strokes across that page. He’d be okay when he could actually complete a drawing, until then he was just consumed with a sense of lacking and uncertainty.
The adolescent blew air from his lips and tore his hands through his hair, muttering obscenities before dropping the pencil and pad in his lap.
Where: The Infirmary
What: Killing time during the death toll.
Warnings: I'll edit this later.
Tap, tap, tap. The sounds of JD’s fine point pencil smacking against his sketch pad could be heard throughout the infirmary. His inspiration to draw had been cut slim since his death and now all that lie on the particular page was the shaded outline of a construction worker’s cap. Not exactly what he called art and he had no idea where he was going with it, just that it was there. The rest of his pages in the book were much the same, shady outlines of unfinished things. He felt like all of his creativity had just oozed out of his neck during the flood.
Every once in a while Tony would come over and lay beside him, but JD didn’t say much. Things were still awkward and tense and it hurt to talk, his throat was hoarse. He appreciated the body warmth and the sense of comfort having him near brought but he wasn’t okay. He felt displaced. He hated it.
JD tapped his pencil against the pad a few more times before turning the page and starting soft new strokes across that page. He’d be okay when he could actually complete a drawing, until then he was just consumed with a sense of lacking and uncertainty.
The adolescent blew air from his lips and tore his hands through his hair, muttering obscenities before dropping the pencil and pad in his lap.