(no subject)
For no reason other than the fact that nothing has gone too awfully wrong, Roger's happy.
It's not any elated kind of happiness, but something that definitely counts. He'd passed the last few weeks without getting sicker, overheated, depressed, or turned into a woman or a child/old guy. There isn't anything too schadenfreude about it (okay, a little), it's just that for maybe the first time, Roger doesn't feel like the entirety of the populations and fates have lined up to take a crap on his head.
It was 6:30am-ish when Roger realized that the rollicking of the sand was due to a light breeze coming in from... somewhere, and he tilted his head back in the beauty of it. Now, it's almost 10 and he's already bumped around a few of the station cables, eaten, and gotten a little exercise in. It's not even until now, when he's standing on a mound of sand that seems perfectly contoured with a cup of coffee in his hand that's just cool enough to drink and just hot enough to scorch third grade out of his memory that the light breeze manages to wrestle a piece of their roof loose. Roger watches it loop once before landing in the sand with a relatively soft piff.
Upon closer inspection, Roger notices that the piece of their roof, while probably not incredibly essential, is probably a little bigger a chunk than he thinks the rest of the roof is comfortable parting with. Maybe even a little more than Roger's comfortable parting with, and his roof at home had its own issues (Mark said "skylight," Roger said BIG FUCKING HOLE).
Shirt off, ribs protruding but not as much as before (thanks to Dean and countless other meddling assholes), Roger's on the roof and by 10:15, and by noon, he's almost done with the patch job. He needs water like a motherfucker, and he's sweating his balls off, but he still feels good. Maybe hungry, but also good.
It's not any elated kind of happiness, but something that definitely counts. He'd passed the last few weeks without getting sicker, overheated, depressed, or turned into a woman or a child/old guy. There isn't anything too schadenfreude about it (okay, a little), it's just that for maybe the first time, Roger doesn't feel like the entirety of the populations and fates have lined up to take a crap on his head.
It was 6:30am-ish when Roger realized that the rollicking of the sand was due to a light breeze coming in from... somewhere, and he tilted his head back in the beauty of it. Now, it's almost 10 and he's already bumped around a few of the station cables, eaten, and gotten a little exercise in. It's not even until now, when he's standing on a mound of sand that seems perfectly contoured with a cup of coffee in his hand that's just cool enough to drink and just hot enough to scorch third grade out of his memory that the light breeze manages to wrestle a piece of their roof loose. Roger watches it loop once before landing in the sand with a relatively soft piff.
Upon closer inspection, Roger notices that the piece of their roof, while probably not incredibly essential, is probably a little bigger a chunk than he thinks the rest of the roof is comfortable parting with. Maybe even a little more than Roger's comfortable parting with, and his roof at home had its own issues (Mark said "skylight," Roger said BIG FUCKING HOLE).
Shirt off, ribs protruding but not as much as before (thanks to Dean and countless other meddling assholes), Roger's on the roof and by 10:15, and by noon, he's almost done with the patch job. He needs water like a motherfucker, and he's sweating his balls off, but he still feels good. Maybe hungry, but also good.