Room 516, Monday Morning
Back from what had been an unexpectedly long and uncomfortable week and a half at home, Roscoe trudged his way up the stairs and into his room before flopping face-down on the bed.
It was hard to decide which was the more miserable experience, picking up his dad from jail or discovering that a racist, homophobic, transphobic Cheeto was going to be president. The latter had made the former a lot worse, actually.
But going to protests with Uncle Malcolm on two of the last five nights had made him feel a little better, at least, or at least allowed him to scream until he got tired and his voice was hoarse, so... that was something?
He was still going to just lay here, though. The bed was soft and didn't have any bad news for him. Hopefully.
[[there's a rolling suitcase in the doorway, but the door's open! possible SP warning, i'm trying to get my brain coherent enough to actually play today but i make no promises.]]
It was hard to decide which was the more miserable experience, picking up his dad from jail or discovering that a racist, homophobic, transphobic Cheeto was going to be president. The latter had made the former a lot worse, actually.
But going to protests with Uncle Malcolm on two of the last five nights had made him feel a little better, at least, or at least allowed him to scream until he got tired and his voice was hoarse, so... that was something?
He was still going to just lay here, though. The bed was soft and didn't have any bad news for him. Hopefully.
[[there's a rolling suitcase in the doorway, but the door's open! possible SP warning, i'm trying to get my brain coherent enough to actually play today but i make no promises.]]