(no subject)

Feb 09, 2008 17:47

Tyra stops on the path, her blond hair hanging in her face in sweaty strands. She chopped it off a few days ago, around the time that Jason turned up, dumped it on the sand and watched it blow away. Calvin told her that birds, some birds, like to use hair in their nests.

Tyra isn't sure whether she likes that or not.

She's pretty sure that Landry's gone, now. She's been looking, and looking, but it doesn't seem that there's much left but a few t-shirts and his guitar. She can't keep looking at the guitar, so she's hauling it up to the compound to see if she can give it away to someone, but it's hard work, and it's hot, and she has to keep stopping and when she finally manages to get to the compound steps she trips and skins her knee and Jesus-fucking-Christ, Tyra hates being left.

It's surprisingly easy to pick up the guitar in her hands, feel the weight of it for a split second before she brings it down against the edge of the amp.

It doesn't smash cleanly, so she does it again. And again.
She always hated being left.

ooc: half in the compound, half out of it, so she's essentially blocking the door, should you want to come in or out. If there's anybody who needs to hear that Landry's officially gone, now's the time.

tim riggins, john crichton, tyra collette, calvin o'keefe, jason street

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