got enough guilt to start my own religion
Gus hadn't been exploring so much as wandering without a point on destination in mind. He was keeping more or less to the concrete compound. He felt safer, more centered, somehow, with something that solid under his fingertips. He walked and trailed his hand along the wall. Delirium had showed him the clothes box, which had been persuaded to give him baggy shorts instead of the grey pants that he'd been wearing for the meeting. He had his sleeves pushed up, his buttons undone. He was still wearing his collar.
Too much changing too fast could give a body whiplash.
Gus stuck his head into the rec room, glancing around. The jukebox immediately sprang into life.
We'll haul away, we'll haul away together, we'll haul away...
"We'll haul away, Joe," murmured Gus as he wandered into the room, the bookshelf enticing. He could settle down and read for a little while. "How are ya, Joe? Hangin' on?"
The jukebox continued in that fashion while Gus trailed his fingers along the spines of the books on the shelf. The half full bottle of rum (he was being so careful with it), with a comfortable weight in his back pocket. He murmured the titles as he read them. King James Bible, 1792, 1802, 1804, 1641. 1641. His grandfather had had one of those. He'd called it the More Sea Bible, because of a famous misprint. The first heaven and the first earth were passed away and there was more sea. The sea was supposed to stop. It was supposed to go away.
"Water, water every where," murmured Gus, as the jukebox changed tack.
Been looking for a savior in these dirty streets...Looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets...been raising up my hands- drive another nail in.
Gus rolled his eyes and sat down in a chair, no bible but a copy of Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit. In Russian, which was a nice touch.
"Oh, please."
(ooc: come meet the Minister besieged by misprinted Bibles. It isn't a crisis of faith just yet, but only because Gus hasn't got any. Come meet him. Late tags welcome).
Too much changing too fast could give a body whiplash.
Gus stuck his head into the rec room, glancing around. The jukebox immediately sprang into life.
We'll haul away, we'll haul away together, we'll haul away...
"We'll haul away, Joe," murmured Gus as he wandered into the room, the bookshelf enticing. He could settle down and read for a little while. "How are ya, Joe? Hangin' on?"
The jukebox continued in that fashion while Gus trailed his fingers along the spines of the books on the shelf. The half full bottle of rum (he was being so careful with it), with a comfortable weight in his back pocket. He murmured the titles as he read them. King James Bible, 1792, 1802, 1804, 1641. 1641. His grandfather had had one of those. He'd called it the More Sea Bible, because of a famous misprint. The first heaven and the first earth were passed away and there was more sea. The sea was supposed to stop. It was supposed to go away.
"Water, water every where," murmured Gus, as the jukebox changed tack.
Been looking for a savior in these dirty streets...Looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets...been raising up my hands- drive another nail in.
Gus rolled his eyes and sat down in a chair, no bible but a copy of Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit. In Russian, which was a nice touch.
"Oh, please."
(ooc: come meet the Minister besieged by misprinted Bibles. It isn't a crisis of faith just yet, but only because Gus hasn't got any. Come meet him. Late tags welcome).