(no subject)
For what it's worth, Rodney likes it on the island. Alright, he's a little antsy, but he can't really complain about being dumped on a tropical island after trekking around Mongolia. The weather's fabulous, the food is delicious, the people are (mostly) charming, and there's no lack of anything to do. There's nothing along the lines of his former profession, but he supposes that's a good thing (if somewhat boring). He's been candid to everyone who's asked about his past life so far, but he isn't particularly eager to cultivate any sort of reputation that might mark him out as a criminal. It's romantic to a degree, sure, but it's not what you want when you can only go so far in any one direction.
That aside, being visible is still a hell of a novelty. For the most part, he's happy about it, but on occasional it's just a bother. There are times he doesn't particularly want to be seen, but it isn't as if he's possessed of anything like an invisibility cloak. Would he change back, he wonders, if he had the choice? Failing completely being able to convince himself that he wouldn't, he simply shoves the question to the back of his head. It isn't something he wants to think on too long.
The afternoon finds him wandering along the same stretch of beach that he arrived on, kicking up sand and looking out to sea as if he expected the Nautilus to rise up from the waves, or a bottle to come floating along containing a message that would explain exactly what was going on. (Neither happens. He's only slightly disappointed by this.)
Eventually, he takes a seat in the sand, beginning to form what is (frankly) a fairly pathetic sandcastle that he knocks down almost as soon as it's upright. His second attempt is only slightly better, but he miscalculates the angle to which he demolishes it. The sand goes flying to one side -- not nearly at eye level for anyone who might be walking by (the highest the sand goes is roughly to the average person's shin), but of a large enough quantity to cause a minor inconvenience.
"Blimey, I'm sorry about that," he says almost immediately, although the apology is somewhat marred by the amusement in his voice.
That aside, being visible is still a hell of a novelty. For the most part, he's happy about it, but on occasional it's just a bother. There are times he doesn't particularly want to be seen, but it isn't as if he's possessed of anything like an invisibility cloak. Would he change back, he wonders, if he had the choice? Failing completely being able to convince himself that he wouldn't, he simply shoves the question to the back of his head. It isn't something he wants to think on too long.
The afternoon finds him wandering along the same stretch of beach that he arrived on, kicking up sand and looking out to sea as if he expected the Nautilus to rise up from the waves, or a bottle to come floating along containing a message that would explain exactly what was going on. (Neither happens. He's only slightly disappointed by this.)
Eventually, he takes a seat in the sand, beginning to form what is (frankly) a fairly pathetic sandcastle that he knocks down almost as soon as it's upright. His second attempt is only slightly better, but he miscalculates the angle to which he demolishes it. The sand goes flying to one side -- not nearly at eye level for anyone who might be walking by (the highest the sand goes is roughly to the average person's shin), but of a large enough quantity to cause a minor inconvenience.
"Blimey, I'm sorry about that," he says almost immediately, although the apology is somewhat marred by the amusement in his voice.