(no subject)
Yesterday was not a good day for Gordon in the way that April 14th and 15th, 1912, were not good days for sailors. After everything else that happened, he made it to his room, washed off the HEV suit and the crowbar, washed himself off, and collapsed in bed. He just didn't have the resources to process anything else. He expected either nightmares or oblivious sleep. What he got was a series of half-remembered dreams involving riding some huge white creature whose head he couldn't see and whose course he couldn't control, but that wouldn't stop moving or even slow down. It was... unnerving, to say the least.
He hadn't thought he could be put any further ill at ease any further than that, but when he woke up and found that the events of the prior two days were the real thing and not some sort of fevered imagining, it only got worse. The need to get out in the sunlight, under the open sky, was suddenly overwhelming. He left the HEV suit and the rest of his arsenal in the bathroom, dug his jeans and MIT shirt out of the room's dresser, and came down to the Bar proper. "Bar," he said on arrival, "I think I need to hit something for a while." (It's easier than thinking.) "Are there any options?"
It would appear that Bar is aware of Gordon's remarkable lack of ability to throw a good punch. What he gets for his pains is a baseball bat, a bucket of baseballs, and a note regarding pitching machine rentals- or the parts to construct one, since he already knows how to do that.
He'll face up to his responsibilities once he's spent a few hours outside discovering the difference between hitting baseballs and hitting manhacks. Right now he just needs to do something non-lethal for a while.
[tinytag: Gordon Freeman]
He hadn't thought he could be put any further ill at ease any further than that, but when he woke up and found that the events of the prior two days were the real thing and not some sort of fevered imagining, it only got worse. The need to get out in the sunlight, under the open sky, was suddenly overwhelming. He left the HEV suit and the rest of his arsenal in the bathroom, dug his jeans and MIT shirt out of the room's dresser, and came down to the Bar proper. "Bar," he said on arrival, "I think I need to hit something for a while." (It's easier than thinking.) "Are there any options?"
It would appear that Bar is aware of Gordon's remarkable lack of ability to throw a good punch. What he gets for his pains is a baseball bat, a bucket of baseballs, and a note regarding pitching machine rentals- or the parts to construct one, since he already knows how to do that.
He'll face up to his responsibilities once he's spent a few hours outside discovering the difference between hitting baseballs and hitting manhacks. Right now he just needs to do something non-lethal for a while.
[tinytag: Gordon Freeman]