[ video; english ] finally! a reaction post before plot heats up!
[ America is lounging back on his bed in his pajamas. If you look closely, his eyes are red and puffy, but more importantly, his gaze is a tad unfocused. Either his communicator was accidentally turned on or he simply forgot (both are likely scenarios), because he's definitely not looking at the screen. Head lolling to the side, he stares at some crumpled papers in his hand. He speaks slowly, slightly slurred, and, for once, quietly. It's almost a monotone. ]
You'd expect Eustace to have very few constants in his life, but this was not the case. The one thing people often forgot about time traveling was that sooner or later, intentionally or not, you'd find your way back home again.
With that being said, Eustace would always find his way back to the small house on Gloucester Road, one way or another. He'd stand at the corner of the street and watch the curtains flutter, even when the wind had expired. He'd walk slowly towards the house and spot the cleanliness of the doorstep, even after an English rain. He'd knock on the door and instinctively know the bread in the kitchen was warm, even when it had been baked hours ago
It was all very fairytale to him, a bit of magic. And it was nice.
[ His head lolls to the other side as his hand reaches to grab a small white pill from a pile, eating it as though he were eating popcorn. ]
How d'ya end a story about a time traveler? I guess you don't. You can't. Silly England. Stories don't actually end. [ His head rolls back and he closes his eyes. ]
"Thousands of miles away in a sunnier land that smelled like fresh grass and pines, there were two boys. Only one of them was cool enough to be a time traveler--okay, Mattie, you can be one too--but though they were of the same sort as all the others, they were alone. Galaxies away. And they had houses. Ordinary by all accounts, really, until you counted the treasures they collected from their adventures through time. Somehow, these houses and the treasures they exchanged, the damage they inflicted upon each other, and the girly gardens their father had planted that they never had the heart to destroy--it became them. Eventually, they'd always find themselves back in front of those crooked gates."
[ A pause. He opens his eyes and grins goofily at the camera as he slowly... slowly leans to the right... and thunk, falls on the bed. You get a nice close-up of his face. ]
Whoever said I'm not good at telling stories, suck it. Mark Twain would give me a high five right now.
[ And then he falls asleep. Well. For a moment. Then his eyes open and squint at the camera. Enjoy the doped up bastard staring into your soul until the feed runs out. Also credit goes to Amir for the lovely italic snippet! ]
You'd expect Eustace to have very few constants in his life, but this was not the case. The one thing people often forgot about time traveling was that sooner or later, intentionally or not, you'd find your way back home again.
With that being said, Eustace would always find his way back to the small house on Gloucester Road, one way or another. He'd stand at the corner of the street and watch the curtains flutter, even when the wind had expired. He'd walk slowly towards the house and spot the cleanliness of the doorstep, even after an English rain. He'd knock on the door and instinctively know the bread in the kitchen was warm, even when it had been baked hours ago
It was all very fairytale to him, a bit of magic. And it was nice.
[ His head lolls to the other side as his hand reaches to grab a small white pill from a pile, eating it as though he were eating popcorn. ]
How d'ya end a story about a time traveler? I guess you don't. You can't. Silly England. Stories don't actually end. [ His head rolls back and he closes his eyes. ]
"Thousands of miles away in a sunnier land that smelled like fresh grass and pines, there were two boys. Only one of them was cool enough to be a time traveler--okay, Mattie, you can be one too--but though they were of the same sort as all the others, they were alone. Galaxies away. And they had houses. Ordinary by all accounts, really, until you counted the treasures they collected from their adventures through time. Somehow, these houses and the treasures they exchanged, the damage they inflicted upon each other, and the girly gardens their father had planted that they never had the heart to destroy--it became them. Eventually, they'd always find themselves back in front of those crooked gates."
[ A pause. He opens his eyes and grins goofily at the camera as he slowly... slowly leans to the right... and thunk, falls on the bed. You get a nice close-up of his face. ]
Whoever said I'm not good at telling stories, suck it. Mark Twain would give me a high five right now.
[ And then he falls asleep. Well. For a moment. Then his eyes open and squint at the camera. Enjoy the doped up bastard staring into your soul until the feed runs out. Also credit goes to Amir for the lovely italic snippet! ]