(no subject)
He was gone.
There had been no reasoning with Angela, whom he found in a rage that morning. It didn’t take him long to figure out what was wrong, and after repeated attempts to try to comfort her, he eventually was told to leave. Jim, not knowing what else to do, did.
There was a strange lump in his throat as he walked down the beach, hands shoved into his pockets, with Rembrandt trotting next to him. The dog seemed to pick up the sense of loss Jim was trying desperately not to feel and stayed near his side. He barely noticed his presence; a feeling of numbness washed over him.
People came and went. This one was different, though, and Jim knew it. As annoying as Dwight had always been to him, there was no denying the fact he was almost like family to him. He was always there when he needed him, dependable even when he probably shouldn’t have been the way Jim had treated him, and now that he wasn’t Jim wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself. It just wasn’t fair.
It had appeared out of nowhere. One moment the beach had nothing on it, the next something was directly in front of him that he smacked hard into. He stumbled back, holding his face as pain shot up, before dropping it to stare at the object Rembrandt was already sniffing.
A vending machine. Jim’s eyebrows furrowed as he slowly went around to the front of it, and he felt that lump in his throat grow larger.
It was just as he remembered, all of Dwight’s items among the snacks. The prank had gotten a big laugh out of Pam, and watching Dwight use the nickels he gave him to get the things out had entertained him for a good half hour of that work day. Really, looking back on it now, it wasn’t all that funny. A lot of the stuff he did wasn’t.
Too bad it was too late to apologize.
[OOC: Yes, as of this post, Dwight’s gone from the island. People who knew him are welcome to tag in and have Jim tell them, or you can handwave your pup either finding out from him or Angela. For information on the vending machine, see the post in slated.]
There had been no reasoning with Angela, whom he found in a rage that morning. It didn’t take him long to figure out what was wrong, and after repeated attempts to try to comfort her, he eventually was told to leave. Jim, not knowing what else to do, did.
There was a strange lump in his throat as he walked down the beach, hands shoved into his pockets, with Rembrandt trotting next to him. The dog seemed to pick up the sense of loss Jim was trying desperately not to feel and stayed near his side. He barely noticed his presence; a feeling of numbness washed over him.
People came and went. This one was different, though, and Jim knew it. As annoying as Dwight had always been to him, there was no denying the fact he was almost like family to him. He was always there when he needed him, dependable even when he probably shouldn’t have been the way Jim had treated him, and now that he wasn’t Jim wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself. It just wasn’t fair.
It had appeared out of nowhere. One moment the beach had nothing on it, the next something was directly in front of him that he smacked hard into. He stumbled back, holding his face as pain shot up, before dropping it to stare at the object Rembrandt was already sniffing.
A vending machine. Jim’s eyebrows furrowed as he slowly went around to the front of it, and he felt that lump in his throat grow larger.
It was just as he remembered, all of Dwight’s items among the snacks. The prank had gotten a big laugh out of Pam, and watching Dwight use the nickels he gave him to get the things out had entertained him for a good half hour of that work day. Really, looking back on it now, it wasn’t all that funny. A lot of the stuff he did wasn’t.
Too bad it was too late to apologize.
[OOC: Yes, as of this post, Dwight’s gone from the island. People who knew him are welcome to tag in and have Jim tell them, or you can handwave your pup either finding out from him or Angela. For information on the vending machine, see the post in slated.]