Bran and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good Very Bad Day
In retrospect, he should have known the day was going to turn out to be very bad. It hadn't seemed so at the very beginning, the part where he was still curled up in the blankets with Cafall stretched across his feet, but when he walked out into the rec room and the jukebox was playing a song with a chorus that repeat the line "Life's gonna suck," he ought to have taken it as a warning.
He'd called the dogs and taken them outside, and was leaning against the wall of the transformed compound when Cafall started barking at a tuft of grass. Upon investigation he discovered the dog had found a small tiki idol, presumably where someone had dropped it. He'd picked it up only with the idea of showing it to Will and finding out who might have been missing it, but as soon as he tucked it in his pocket, Cafall let out a panicked bark and pranced worriedly around him.
"Oh, what's with you then?" he'd asked, but the dog had gone on that way. He hadn't had time to think of it for long, though, because one of the lambs had gone and developed some sort of digestive issue, probably, he'd thought, because of the changes to the grass and fauna on the island. "Oh, come on." He held his nose, the dogs took off for outside, and he had his work cut out for him.
A shower, then--the hot water'd gone off less than five minutes in--and breakfast--which involved spilling tea down the front of his shirt when Alex had kicked the football into his head. "Oh!" he'd said, frustrated. "I'm giving up!"
"Sorry," Alex said, meaning it. "But it's also not my fault you can't manage a simple header."
"I was pouring a cup of tea," Bran countered. "One traditionally gets more warning than you yelling 'incoming!' in the middle of the kitchen."
It had gone on like that. Cof got a thorn in her foot, and while she was barking and have a fit, Bran had slipped getting to her, tumbled down a hill and sprained his ankle. He'd used Eirias for the undignified task of pushing himself up, but got it stuck in a tree root in the process, and fallen on his arse when he tried to pull the sword out again, failing utterly to put any weight on his swollen, black and blue ankle. And he still hasn't managed to go and see Will, though considering the circumstances he supposes that may be for the best. As appealing as the idea is of having his boyfriend take him home and take care of him, he's not sure he trusts his luck that much at the moment.
The last time he falls, he lands on the idol in his pocket, bruising his hip, and fishes it out.
"This isn't your fault, is it?" he asks it, but it only looks up at him with a smug tiki-idol face.
[Oh, he's having a bad day. :) Come comfort, make fun of, enjoy his misery before the idol of doom moves on to Quatre. As always: all welcome, ST/LT fine.]
He'd called the dogs and taken them outside, and was leaning against the wall of the transformed compound when Cafall started barking at a tuft of grass. Upon investigation he discovered the dog had found a small tiki idol, presumably where someone had dropped it. He'd picked it up only with the idea of showing it to Will and finding out who might have been missing it, but as soon as he tucked it in his pocket, Cafall let out a panicked bark and pranced worriedly around him.
"Oh, what's with you then?" he'd asked, but the dog had gone on that way. He hadn't had time to think of it for long, though, because one of the lambs had gone and developed some sort of digestive issue, probably, he'd thought, because of the changes to the grass and fauna on the island. "Oh, come on." He held his nose, the dogs took off for outside, and he had his work cut out for him.
A shower, then--the hot water'd gone off less than five minutes in--and breakfast--which involved spilling tea down the front of his shirt when Alex had kicked the football into his head. "Oh!" he'd said, frustrated. "I'm giving up!"
"Sorry," Alex said, meaning it. "But it's also not my fault you can't manage a simple header."
"I was pouring a cup of tea," Bran countered. "One traditionally gets more warning than you yelling 'incoming!' in the middle of the kitchen."
It had gone on like that. Cof got a thorn in her foot, and while she was barking and have a fit, Bran had slipped getting to her, tumbled down a hill and sprained his ankle. He'd used Eirias for the undignified task of pushing himself up, but got it stuck in a tree root in the process, and fallen on his arse when he tried to pull the sword out again, failing utterly to put any weight on his swollen, black and blue ankle. And he still hasn't managed to go and see Will, though considering the circumstances he supposes that may be for the best. As appealing as the idea is of having his boyfriend take him home and take care of him, he's not sure he trusts his luck that much at the moment.
The last time he falls, he lands on the idol in his pocket, bruising his hip, and fishes it out.
"This isn't your fault, is it?" he asks it, but it only looks up at him with a smug tiki-idol face.
[Oh, he's having a bad day. :) Come comfort, make fun of, enjoy his misery before the idol of doom moves on to Quatre. As always: all welcome, ST/LT fine.]