I'm waiting for a sign... [OPEN THREAD]
Characters: Trowa Barton OPEN
Where: New York
When: a day or so after the new arrangement
Summary: Trowa Barton is in the house!! Feel free to poke at him and be ignored or brushed off.
Warnings: Nope... can't think of how that might change either.
It would do the world good if every man would compel himself occasionally to be absolutely alone. Most of the world's progress has come out of such loneliness. -Bruce Barton
The man you might find today knows little of the meaning of these words. Sure, they are sensible and indeed, have some real context when put in the simple, shallow, civilian mind. The man you might find has been alone his whole life, literally and figuratively. This 'glorious new adventure', as it seemed, was no different. So it seems he should be at the very pinnacle of success, no? The king of loners ought to have some startling idea to shake the very foundations of this problem. Enough time must have been spent ruminating and meditating, right? Thank you Bruce Barton, but no.
He had no ideas, though a few petty theories came to his head. "Trowa" quickly tossed them all out, waiting for the information to come to him, as it would inevitably, if he kept his eyes and ears open. Somewhere, in his own mind, he invited the comparison of this to his own memory loss. Immediately he decided this was nothing like that at all... other than the superb feeling of not knowing. Of having no leads, no explanations, being surrounded by people who knew what they were doing, and being completely emptyhanded. He roamed the streets, identifying New York City rather quickly. He had never been here before but the skyscrapers were dead ringers. He had nowhere in particular to go, so he was heading in and out of pods of people on the sidewalks. Not standing out or reaching for attention. To anyone else he was only a typical, glum, antisocial New Yorker.
Although he would look more than cool on the surface, under thousands of emotional layers, there was even the slightest itching of discomfort. Not one he even deemed worthy to acknowledge. He was simply waiting, and listening, for any clue about where this was, who this was done by, or what this was done for.
Where: New York
When: a day or so after the new arrangement
Summary: Trowa Barton is in the house!! Feel free to poke at him and be ignored or brushed off.
Warnings: Nope... can't think of how that might change either.
It would do the world good if every man would compel himself occasionally to be absolutely alone. Most of the world's progress has come out of such loneliness. -Bruce Barton
The man you might find today knows little of the meaning of these words. Sure, they are sensible and indeed, have some real context when put in the simple, shallow, civilian mind. The man you might find has been alone his whole life, literally and figuratively. This 'glorious new adventure', as it seemed, was no different. So it seems he should be at the very pinnacle of success, no? The king of loners ought to have some startling idea to shake the very foundations of this problem. Enough time must have been spent ruminating and meditating, right? Thank you Bruce Barton, but no.
He had no ideas, though a few petty theories came to his head. "Trowa" quickly tossed them all out, waiting for the information to come to him, as it would inevitably, if he kept his eyes and ears open. Somewhere, in his own mind, he invited the comparison of this to his own memory loss. Immediately he decided this was nothing like that at all... other than the superb feeling of not knowing. Of having no leads, no explanations, being surrounded by people who knew what they were doing, and being completely emptyhanded. He roamed the streets, identifying New York City rather quickly. He had never been here before but the skyscrapers were dead ringers. He had nowhere in particular to go, so he was heading in and out of pods of people on the sidewalks. Not standing out or reaching for attention. To anyone else he was only a typical, glum, antisocial New Yorker.
Although he would look more than cool on the surface, under thousands of emotional layers, there was even the slightest itching of discomfort. Not one he even deemed worthy to acknowledge. He was simply waiting, and listening, for any clue about where this was, who this was done by, or what this was done for.