(no subject)
There was only so much a boy could stand. Patience, as much as it may astound people, was not one of Trevor's more defining attributes. He'd been trying though, but he'd reached his limit. Just sitting around all sodding day waiting for the juice of his eyeballs to dry up in the sun was not the kind of life he was equipped to be living. He'd tried everything. Billards, reading, shooting at parrots and even just standing around kicking a tree in hopes it would some how manage to eleviate his boredom in some manner. Failures. All failures and despite his efforts, he was still pretty sure that another week of it and he would inexplicably die from the lack of anything going on.
Well, some things were going on. People were dying and that was new. And not just dying, nothing stupid like ate a bad coconut or was mauled by a dinosaur (he actually was starting to find it vaguely hilarious that mauled by a dinosaur was a rather droll way to die these days) but real, swear to God murder. It was about time. The bloody place could only be so happy and safe for so long, and you couldn't just wait around and blame every bad thing on supernatural fucked up island causes. Sooner or later, the messed up side of human nature was bound to kick in and that was when things really began to get interesting. Murderers were a part of society. The idea may get people running around like chickens with their heads cut off, but Trevor knew that it was the truth. Murderers were as run of the mills as post men, skinheads, cops and school teachers. It was easy to cover your ears and tell yourself that wasn't true, but it didn't make it any less of a fact. And that the thick, happy-happy people were once again being forced to see and acknowledge that fact was probably one of the most satisfying thoughts that he'd been graced with since his arrival. People actually had to admit some people killed other pdeople. It was brilliant.
Didn't make him want to hang out and have a fag with the mental case in question, but he might make the bloke and or bird a card.
But back to the present. He was tired of just sitting around wallowing in his misery. It wasn't like he had any mates to go off with and express his opinions these days. At most he had Luce, and Luce wasn't much if anything. Instead, when faced with a dilemma, he did the best thing he could think of. He got back to his roots, he regrasped one of his favourite old habits and expressed himself.
He was already through about the fourth exhibition of I AM BORED on the Compound walls. Maybe when it got later he could get to the IPD office door and leave a present for Vimes.
[Yes, it's graffiti. Nothing big, marker but annoying . Yes, you may yell at him. Or, y'know, don't.]
Well, some things were going on. People were dying and that was new. And not just dying, nothing stupid like ate a bad coconut or was mauled by a dinosaur (he actually was starting to find it vaguely hilarious that mauled by a dinosaur was a rather droll way to die these days) but real, swear to God murder. It was about time. The bloody place could only be so happy and safe for so long, and you couldn't just wait around and blame every bad thing on supernatural fucked up island causes. Sooner or later, the messed up side of human nature was bound to kick in and that was when things really began to get interesting. Murderers were a part of society. The idea may get people running around like chickens with their heads cut off, but Trevor knew that it was the truth. Murderers were as run of the mills as post men, skinheads, cops and school teachers. It was easy to cover your ears and tell yourself that wasn't true, but it didn't make it any less of a fact. And that the thick, happy-happy people were once again being forced to see and acknowledge that fact was probably one of the most satisfying thoughts that he'd been graced with since his arrival. People actually had to admit some people killed other pdeople. It was brilliant.
Didn't make him want to hang out and have a fag with the mental case in question, but he might make the bloke and or bird a card.
But back to the present. He was tired of just sitting around wallowing in his misery. It wasn't like he had any mates to go off with and express his opinions these days. At most he had Luce, and Luce wasn't much if anything. Instead, when faced with a dilemma, he did the best thing he could think of. He got back to his roots, he regrasped one of his favourite old habits and expressed himself.
He was already through about the fourth exhibition of I AM BORED on the Compound walls. Maybe when it got later he could get to the IPD office door and leave a present for Vimes.
[Yes, it's graffiti. Nothing big, marker but annoying . Yes, you may yell at him. Or, y'know, don't.]