(no subject)
Lionel isn't sure why he's even brought out his old camera in the first place; it's not as if he can take any pictures that won't do anything but sit on a roll of film he can't develop. It's probablya bit for nostalgia's sake - taking Mark's cinematography class has been putting him more in mind of his own college years. It isn't homesickness so much as a yearning for old days. Back before his sister ran away and got pregnant, before John died, before Ward and Faye split up - again.
Things were so much simpler back then. He wouldn't give up what he has now for it, though. Lionel knows that much.
He has time to kill before Mark's class, and the idea of figuring out if there's anyway to develop his old rolls of film pops into his head. Before he knew it, an hour or so had passed, with different books piled on the table before him. They weren't even books on developing anymore - everything from portfolios to collections to Time magazine's best photography - Lionel had just started picking up whatever looked interesting, taking the bookshelf's seemingly good night for what it was.
Lionel has his nose in Vanity Fair: The Portraits as he makes his way back to the table and he doesn't see the damn cat until it's too late.
Doing his best to avoid stepping on the cat (which hisses its disapproval at him as it runs off), Lionel trips over his own feet, reaches out for the table to keep from looking like an idiot, and the book - the very big, very heavy book - flies out of his hands and onto the table. Right onto his camera.
He flinches when he hears the lens crack, and between thudding heartbeats, Lionel's thankful it wasn't his newest camera, the one he actually uses. That doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt, though, and as Lionel straightens up and gingerly picks up the old camera, it's almost as if he's losing a link to his old life along with it.
Things were so much simpler back then. He wouldn't give up what he has now for it, though. Lionel knows that much.
He has time to kill before Mark's class, and the idea of figuring out if there's anyway to develop his old rolls of film pops into his head. Before he knew it, an hour or so had passed, with different books piled on the table before him. They weren't even books on developing anymore - everything from portfolios to collections to Time magazine's best photography - Lionel had just started picking up whatever looked interesting, taking the bookshelf's seemingly good night for what it was.
Lionel has his nose in Vanity Fair: The Portraits as he makes his way back to the table and he doesn't see the damn cat until it's too late.
Doing his best to avoid stepping on the cat (which hisses its disapproval at him as it runs off), Lionel trips over his own feet, reaches out for the table to keep from looking like an idiot, and the book - the very big, very heavy book - flies out of his hands and onto the table. Right onto his camera.
He flinches when he hears the lens crack, and between thudding heartbeats, Lionel's thankful it wasn't his newest camera, the one he actually uses. That doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt, though, and as Lionel straightens up and gingerly picks up the old camera, it's almost as if he's losing a link to his old life along with it.