(no subject)
Things, if you asked Doyle, had started to look up. It wasn't like Doyle was one to dwell on the bad to make something like that an important point, but they were. He might have already crossed his one year mark on the island, but it wasn't like he had anything better waiting for him back home, and besides -- he had Cordy, Angel and even Wesley now. The little bright spot in Doyle City was practically a fucking beacon (an unfortunate choice of words, but there you were) at this point, and he smiled more now than he had in the past month or so.
Plus, he still had an entire bottle of whisky left. A man really couldn't go all that wrong.
Unless you got lost in a jungle on an island you'd lived on for over a year, that is. Brachen demons might have had a good sense of direction, but it wasn't like Doyle'd been full Brachen back home, and he was fully human now. He'd taken a turn here and a turn there, thinking he recognized this tree stump and that log, when in reality he was just wandering aimlessly and had gotten himself hopelessly fucking lost. Seriously, he was a disappointment to the entire Brachen race if he cared about those sorts of things.
Wishing he had a compass or underground sewers or a vampire who still had super-smell and could walk around in daylight, Doyle took a turn and started walking again. He managed a good ten feet before the sounds of other feet in the brush made his blood run cold. Doyle prided himself on his courage, he really did -- it was the only way he stayed working for Angel after the first few jobs, atonement and the Good Fight be damned -- but some things? Some things just had him picking up his feet and running full tilt through the brush until the stomp of boots and flashes of grey through the leaves faded away and he hit the path.
Bracing both hands on his knees, Doyle did his best to catch his damn breath and convince himself that he was just imagining things. Really. Going crazy was the more comforting option.
Plus, he still had an entire bottle of whisky left. A man really couldn't go all that wrong.
Unless you got lost in a jungle on an island you'd lived on for over a year, that is. Brachen demons might have had a good sense of direction, but it wasn't like Doyle'd been full Brachen back home, and he was fully human now. He'd taken a turn here and a turn there, thinking he recognized this tree stump and that log, when in reality he was just wandering aimlessly and had gotten himself hopelessly fucking lost. Seriously, he was a disappointment to the entire Brachen race if he cared about those sorts of things.
Wishing he had a compass or underground sewers or a vampire who still had super-smell and could walk around in daylight, Doyle took a turn and started walking again. He managed a good ten feet before the sounds of other feet in the brush made his blood run cold. Doyle prided himself on his courage, he really did -- it was the only way he stayed working for Angel after the first few jobs, atonement and the Good Fight be damned -- but some things? Some things just had him picking up his feet and running full tilt through the brush until the stomp of boots and flashes of grey through the leaves faded away and he hit the path.
Bracing both hands on his knees, Doyle did his best to catch his damn breath and convince himself that he was just imagining things. Really. Going crazy was the more comforting option.