dreadful sorry, clementine
In more ways than one, Tabula Rasa was a surefire step up from the previous island. A simple look at the way that Sawyer occupied himself on most days was more than enough of an indication; whereas before, he'd spent his days lounging around, scavenging for materials and possessions, often causing factions of the camp to turn against one another, on Tabula Rasa, he was steadily employed and generally well-liked. Running a popular radio show kept him busy on Wednesday mornings and kept his mind active with new and unique ways to troll the lovelorn population of the island. A job on the police force kept him motivated and driven in the evenings, lending a sense of responsibility even when the days were slow. More than anything else, for once in his life, people seemed to believe in him, seemed to trust the advice he had to dole out and even defended him in times of uncertainty. Sawyer didn't want to be a sap.
But it sure as hell meant a lot.
Which was why that afternoon, the blond swaggered around the Compound with a pleased little grin on his face. He'd dropped off his fair share of clothes over at the Boutique, he'd picked up quite a few pastries from the Bakery, and he'd just settled himself in the rec room with Utopia in his lap and a mug of coffee on his armrest, when suddenly the jukebox decided to play a song. Brow raising, Sawyer tugged his frames off, squinting in the machine's direction.
Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling Clementine...
It wouldn't have mattered half as much if it weren't for the fact that Sawyer knew the thing had a lousy sense of humor. He picked himself up and stalked toward the jukebox with a deep frown on his face.
Thou art lost and gone forever; dreadful sorry, Clementine.
Were it any other jukebox, the kick Sawyer delivered would probably have been enough to topple the machine over. As it was, Sawyer merely lost his grip on his mug, hot coffee spilling over his arm and foot throbbing in pain.
"Son of a bitch."
[ While he doesn't know it yet, Sawyer is affected by the truth curse. Timed to early Saturday morning, LT/ST welcome, no limit on threads. ]
But it sure as hell meant a lot.
Which was why that afternoon, the blond swaggered around the Compound with a pleased little grin on his face. He'd dropped off his fair share of clothes over at the Boutique, he'd picked up quite a few pastries from the Bakery, and he'd just settled himself in the rec room with Utopia in his lap and a mug of coffee on his armrest, when suddenly the jukebox decided to play a song. Brow raising, Sawyer tugged his frames off, squinting in the machine's direction.
Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling Clementine...
It wouldn't have mattered half as much if it weren't for the fact that Sawyer knew the thing had a lousy sense of humor. He picked himself up and stalked toward the jukebox with a deep frown on his face.
Thou art lost and gone forever; dreadful sorry, Clementine.
Were it any other jukebox, the kick Sawyer delivered would probably have been enough to topple the machine over. As it was, Sawyer merely lost his grip on his mug, hot coffee spilling over his arm and foot throbbing in pain.
"Son of a bitch."
[ While he doesn't know it yet, Sawyer is affected by the truth curse. Timed to early Saturday morning, LT/ST welcome, no limit on threads. ]