Bored [at the stage of headbutting a wall = ota]
With all the white, the constant cold and literally nothing to do, St John was bored. Bored, pissed off, cranky and still figuring out if Esme was still pissed off at him. Which made him more cranky.
Since the move to Russia, he estimated about fifteen hours sleep. Which, considering they'd been there more than a week, probably wasn't good. Which made him wonder a little more about this dependency shit and just how far up shit creek he was and if the canoe had paddles.
He'd taken up residence just outside the garage for the duration of the day, sitting on top of one of the jeeps waiting there and just staring at the snow until his eyes hurt, then switching to the sky until his head started to ache. It probably wasn't productive, or healthy, but shit was he bored.
He sparked the zippo once, heard the intake of breath from a nearby flatscan of Stryker's service and smirked. So easy. Still didn't help with the boredom.
Since the move to Russia, he estimated about fifteen hours sleep. Which, considering they'd been there more than a week, probably wasn't good. Which made him wonder a little more about this dependency shit and just how far up shit creek he was and if the canoe had paddles.
He'd taken up residence just outside the garage for the duration of the day, sitting on top of one of the jeeps waiting there and just staring at the snow until his eyes hurt, then switching to the sky until his head started to ache. It probably wasn't productive, or healthy, but shit was he bored.
He sparked the zippo once, heard the intake of breath from a nearby flatscan of Stryker's service and smirked. So easy. Still didn't help with the boredom.