(no subject)
Everyone left. It was a fact Sam had been dealing with for the better part of his life, something he'd learned to expect from the time he was small. They died, they vanished, they moved on, they did any number of things, but they never stayed. Around here, that was always going to be the case. It was common knowledge that people disappeared all the time, seemingly into thin air, and even if he hadn't had plenty of other reasons to be prepared for people to leave, he'd have been a fool not to be aware of the possibility on the island. No one was immune to it. After five and a half months here, the only thing that should have surprised him about it was that it had taken so long for one of the disappearances to affect him.
The thing about preparing oneself for the worst, however, was that it rarely accomplished the desired effect. Sam knew that, too, was well aware of how much it stung to be proven right even after steeling himself for everything's inevitable end. Here, somewhat counterintuitively, it was perhaps even worse. He'd opened up, he'd let too many people in, and now, he was short one of his closest friends because of it. Days it had taken him to catch word of Britta's disappearance, and he hated that he was caught off-guard by it, thinking himself supposed to be accustomed to these things. For the most part, he still was. This had come out of nowhere, though, and then there was no denying what it was reminiscent of, the way his father had vanished without a trace into God knows where. Despite all the answers he had now, that didn't change what had happened, what he'd been through, how it affected him, the ramifications it had on his adult life. It certainly didn't make him any more comfortable with the idea.
It was to try to get away from the seemingly endless cycle of thoughts on the matter that Sam had gone to the Hub, and then when one drink hadn't done the trick, it had turned into several. Before too long, he was well on his way to drunk, not quite yet approaching incoherency but far past buzzed, enough that his judgment wasn't what it ought to have been - enough that the karaoke machine began to look amazingly tempting, until, with a half-empty glass in his hand, he swaggered over to use it, already with a song in mind. There was really nothing better for karaoke than some 80s classics, and one in particular came to mind, if only because the last time he'd heard it was playing from the jukebox in his dad's old arcade. It wasn't actually applicable to the current situation at all, but he didn't care. Taking one last, long swig of his drink, he set the glass aside just in time for the intro to end, and sang, "Here we stand, worlds apart, hearts broken in two, two, two..."
[Timed to latish Tuesday night. Catch him between songs (he'll be there for a little while), interrupt, whatever, have at. Garrett Hedlund singing can be found here and related videos, for an idea, though Sam is without the accent and will be sticking to 80s music. ST/LT/whatever fine, it's actually an alright time to meet him, open to all until this says otherwise.]
The thing about preparing oneself for the worst, however, was that it rarely accomplished the desired effect. Sam knew that, too, was well aware of how much it stung to be proven right even after steeling himself for everything's inevitable end. Here, somewhat counterintuitively, it was perhaps even worse. He'd opened up, he'd let too many people in, and now, he was short one of his closest friends because of it. Days it had taken him to catch word of Britta's disappearance, and he hated that he was caught off-guard by it, thinking himself supposed to be accustomed to these things. For the most part, he still was. This had come out of nowhere, though, and then there was no denying what it was reminiscent of, the way his father had vanished without a trace into God knows where. Despite all the answers he had now, that didn't change what had happened, what he'd been through, how it affected him, the ramifications it had on his adult life. It certainly didn't make him any more comfortable with the idea.
It was to try to get away from the seemingly endless cycle of thoughts on the matter that Sam had gone to the Hub, and then when one drink hadn't done the trick, it had turned into several. Before too long, he was well on his way to drunk, not quite yet approaching incoherency but far past buzzed, enough that his judgment wasn't what it ought to have been - enough that the karaoke machine began to look amazingly tempting, until, with a half-empty glass in his hand, he swaggered over to use it, already with a song in mind. There was really nothing better for karaoke than some 80s classics, and one in particular came to mind, if only because the last time he'd heard it was playing from the jukebox in his dad's old arcade. It wasn't actually applicable to the current situation at all, but he didn't care. Taking one last, long swig of his drink, he set the glass aside just in time for the intro to end, and sang, "Here we stand, worlds apart, hearts broken in two, two, two..."
[Timed to latish Tuesday night. Catch him between songs (he'll be there for a little while), interrupt, whatever, have at. Garrett Hedlund singing can be found here and related videos, for an idea, though Sam is without the accent and will be sticking to 80s music. ST/LT/whatever fine, it's actually an alright time to meet him, open to all until this says otherwise.]