And what if I could -- would it do any good?
It all started when Alex woke up that morning. The first thing he'd seen was Pitti, and he suddenly realized that he didn't hate the dog, despite all of his posturing. He quite liked it actually. It gave him something to do and reminded him of home in a very odd way.
And it went on. Everything that he saw made him think about things, and he was thinking about them a lot all of a sudden. Not all of it was good and most of it caught him completely off guard. He tried not to think about stuff a lot, he knew what stuff meant, and if he didn't he told himself that he did and lived with it. It was easy. Except now he was actually thinking about things in detail. How much did he really miss Lara? Was lying to his mother really the best thing to do? Was sleeping on a couch really all that mature? Why did he really hate all of the Soviet spies?
Alex's careful wall of lies that he had spent a lifetime building up around himself was slowly starting to crumble. It probably couldn't take much more.
And the scary thing was that he hadn't even had to speak with anyone else yet.
He sat on the beach and closed his eyes, groaning slightly and rubbing his eyes. All of this thinking and confronting the truth was giving him a headache.
[OOC: The liar can't lie to anyone, including himself. If asked a question that he doesn't want to answer he may just start speaking in German. Late, I know, but still ok?]
And it went on. Everything that he saw made him think about things, and he was thinking about them a lot all of a sudden. Not all of it was good and most of it caught him completely off guard. He tried not to think about stuff a lot, he knew what stuff meant, and if he didn't he told himself that he did and lived with it. It was easy. Except now he was actually thinking about things in detail. How much did he really miss Lara? Was lying to his mother really the best thing to do? Was sleeping on a couch really all that mature? Why did he really hate all of the Soviet spies?
Alex's careful wall of lies that he had spent a lifetime building up around himself was slowly starting to crumble. It probably couldn't take much more.
And the scary thing was that he hadn't even had to speak with anyone else yet.
He sat on the beach and closed his eyes, groaning slightly and rubbing his eyes. All of this thinking and confronting the truth was giving him a headache.
[OOC: The liar can't lie to anyone, including himself. If asked a question that he doesn't want to answer he may just start speaking in German. Late, I know, but still ok?]