Good news will work its way to all them plans.
There's a notice by the Compound's front door in a big, bold hand proclaiming that it's time again to register for school. Freddie can see it from the corner of his eye as he rifles through the games closet, but affords it only a fleeting and faintly bitter acknowledgement. What had school taught him about how to be alive? What had it taught any of them?
Long, nimble fingers pluck items from the shelves and then replace them: Bouncy balls, chess pieces, horseshoes, a well-used American football. There's nothing that remotely resembles a skateboard, but he does pause to consider whether anyone might complain should he re-appropriate the hardware from one of the pairs of roller skates. As he holds one boot in his hand, his attention slides down to the three brightly-coloured hoops tucked just inside the cupboard and he bites back a smile. He's a man grown, hula hooping would be more than a bit ridiculous.
(Karen would laugh, laugh and laugh, back in the garden in the sunlight, head thrown back, you've no hips, how is it fair you're so good at this?)
He puts the roller skate back on its shelf, seizes one of the hoops, carries it into the rec room and steps carefully inside it just as the jukebox clicks over to Modest Mouse. After a few false starts, his hips remember the motion, fluid and steady. Arms lifted out of the way, he tips his head back and smiles as he closes his eyes.
[OOC: An open EP, finally! Give me your ST, your LT, all your threads. "Float On" by Modest Mouse is playing.]
Long, nimble fingers pluck items from the shelves and then replace them: Bouncy balls, chess pieces, horseshoes, a well-used American football. There's nothing that remotely resembles a skateboard, but he does pause to consider whether anyone might complain should he re-appropriate the hardware from one of the pairs of roller skates. As he holds one boot in his hand, his attention slides down to the three brightly-coloured hoops tucked just inside the cupboard and he bites back a smile. He's a man grown, hula hooping would be more than a bit ridiculous.
(Karen would laugh, laugh and laugh, back in the garden in the sunlight, head thrown back, you've no hips, how is it fair you're so good at this?)
He puts the roller skate back on its shelf, seizes one of the hoops, carries it into the rec room and steps carefully inside it just as the jukebox clicks over to Modest Mouse. After a few false starts, his hips remember the motion, fluid and steady. Arms lifted out of the way, he tips his head back and smiles as he closes his eyes.
[OOC: An open EP, finally! Give me your ST, your LT, all your threads. "Float On" by Modest Mouse is playing.]