(no subject)
Idle hands are the devil's tools; Snafu can feel them itching against the rough catch and drag of new denim on his thighs, trying to scratch it smooth and scratch that--that itch they always have. He's not going to be much use to the devil today, not enough room to pace off the excess energy in the frame of the door. Just the rec room to one side, all jangling Christmas tunes repeating the same few bars until he wants to concuss himself on the barrier just to shut it out, and the hall on the other, a trail of wet footprints telling the tale of how he blundered his way into this mess.
He'd forgotten the mistletoe. Knew about it, laughed about it, and forgot.
At this point, he's worn out his desire to be bounced back and forth by whatever's keeping him here, and he's leaning against the doorway, fidgeting with his hands but otherwise calm, otherwise looking like he just wants to be there. Like he could walk away any time he wanted to.
But--his fucking hands. The liquid itch of his spine that starts at the back of his brain and never lets him just settle, and then the itch is on the back of his tongue, it's the start of a headache behind his eyes and that's a feeling he can cope with. A good feeling, really, because digging the cigarettes from his coat pocket and lighting up gives his hands something to do, and if he's not supposed to do it in here, well.
Not his fucking problem, right now.
[Find him chainsmoking in the rec room doorway, trapped under the mistletoe. ST is a given and LT accepted through Tuesday, not a bad time to meet him, if you don't mind kissing one of the most abrasive fuckers on the island. :D]
He'd forgotten the mistletoe. Knew about it, laughed about it, and forgot.
At this point, he's worn out his desire to be bounced back and forth by whatever's keeping him here, and he's leaning against the doorway, fidgeting with his hands but otherwise calm, otherwise looking like he just wants to be there. Like he could walk away any time he wanted to.
But--his fucking hands. The liquid itch of his spine that starts at the back of his brain and never lets him just settle, and then the itch is on the back of his tongue, it's the start of a headache behind his eyes and that's a feeling he can cope with. A good feeling, really, because digging the cigarettes from his coat pocket and lighting up gives his hands something to do, and if he's not supposed to do it in here, well.
Not his fucking problem, right now.
[Find him chainsmoking in the rec room doorway, trapped under the mistletoe. ST is a given and LT accepted through Tuesday, not a bad time to meet him, if you don't mind kissing one of the most abrasive fuckers on the island. :D]