it's more interesting than the dictionary.
Four days. 96 hours. 5760 minutes. 345,600 seconds and counting. That is almost exactly how long Owen Harper has been on this "Island". "Tabula Rasa" he heard some freak with a crown call it, some freak with a crown who called himself Edmund bloody Pevensie. Ha! Some blank slate this is. If it were, Gwen really ought to have been civil to him. Not as if he was really polite to her either, but she clearly started it. All he did was get bloody shot. Still, getting handed nanobots by Greg fucking House was enough to numb the shock of any fictional character even if it was someone from sodding Narnia. God, he hadn't touched those books since he was a school boy.
Everyone's acting far too normal for his tastes. It's disturbing, because there's something else underneath all that that sets Owen on edge. He's normally not too perceptive about these things, but he can tell when someone's teed off at him and people definitely seem to be. Jack showed him the treehouse, sure, but after the last incident he had while 'camping', he sure as hell wasn't living out there. Teamwork be damned, he stuck his name on the list for indoor housing as soon as possible and was lucky enough to get a spot.
He's settling in now, well as best as a man on a freaky pain enduced (because clearly that's what this is) hallucination can. He spent day one marvelling at his healed shoulder. Day two was for perusing the clothing box for half decent shirts and trousers that weren't either neon or stonewashed. Day three contained solely of getting settled in his new room and considering poking about the labs for a bit just to see who ws there.
Today he's in the rec room paging through the Cardiff phone book. It was just sitting there on the "magic bookshelf". It's not his copy though. His has a page or two missing and is all marked up from all the times he went to that resource rather than relying on the Torchwood computers all the time. This copy is brand new and stinks of fresh printing, but it's almost a bit of home and he'll take what he can get.
Hopefully tomorrow he'll wake up to the sights and sounds of the Hub, surrounded by pizza boxes on that manky old couch that they really only keep because it's the most comfortable thing ever invented.
For now he pages through the phone book because secretly he's too worried that he's going to pick up a book and character who is supposed to be in the book will walk through the door. Owen's seen a lot in his days, but there are just some things the brain wasn't meant to process and this whole thing is one of them.
Everyone's acting far too normal for his tastes. It's disturbing, because there's something else underneath all that that sets Owen on edge. He's normally not too perceptive about these things, but he can tell when someone's teed off at him and people definitely seem to be. Jack showed him the treehouse, sure, but after the last incident he had while 'camping', he sure as hell wasn't living out there. Teamwork be damned, he stuck his name on the list for indoor housing as soon as possible and was lucky enough to get a spot.
He's settling in now, well as best as a man on a freaky pain enduced (because clearly that's what this is) hallucination can. He spent day one marvelling at his healed shoulder. Day two was for perusing the clothing box for half decent shirts and trousers that weren't either neon or stonewashed. Day three contained solely of getting settled in his new room and considering poking about the labs for a bit just to see who ws there.
Today he's in the rec room paging through the Cardiff phone book. It was just sitting there on the "magic bookshelf". It's not his copy though. His has a page or two missing and is all marked up from all the times he went to that resource rather than relying on the Torchwood computers all the time. This copy is brand new and stinks of fresh printing, but it's almost a bit of home and he'll take what he can get.
Hopefully tomorrow he'll wake up to the sights and sounds of the Hub, surrounded by pizza boxes on that manky old couch that they really only keep because it's the most comfortable thing ever invented.
For now he pages through the phone book because secretly he's too worried that he's going to pick up a book and character who is supposed to be in the book will walk through the door. Owen's seen a lot in his days, but there are just some things the brain wasn't meant to process and this whole thing is one of them.