Let me tell you some have tried, but I would slam the door so tight that they could never get in.
[OOC: YOU SAW NOTHING.]
Look up the word "unhappy" in a dictionary and right now it would probably boast an image of one Julian Sark, who hasn't entirely gotten over the fact that (A. Sydney Bristow is here, (B. She doesn't know who he is, and (C. He's still irrevocably in love with her (and hates her for it) and he can't do anything about it.
It's just one more frustration added to an already rather substantial stockpile. Maybe he was being petty when he told Sydney that boredom would probably kill her and whether or not it will eventually break her down doesn't change the fact that it is breaking him down slowly but surely. He has no idea what to do with himself anymore and his last attempt to embrace a little bit of his old life was sloppy and haphazard and he has the scar to prove it. And, of course, little flickers of his old life keep arriving to just keep reminding him of everything he was and everything he can't be again for a variety of reasons that he couldn't even begin to list (mostly because that would require admitting a lot of things to himself that he's still denying).
Of course, he firmly believes that adjusting to this would be so much easier if the universe would stop throwing him curveballs and laying more things he doesn't know how to deal with on top of him. Sydney was just the straw that broke the camel's back and that camel was suffering from spinomalacia to begin with.
So, once again, he's back to feeling sorry for himself, much in the same way he did when he thought Sydney was dead before. His emotions regarding that poor girl are more complicated than even he could understand. Distraught by her death, distraught by her being her here.... There just isn't any middle ground and it's making him miserable.
Thus why he's in his room in the Conrad, seated with the chair turned so that it faces the window, just staring, completely expressionlessly, at the city outside while he attempts to sort this out. Not that it's ever gotten him very far before, but here lately he's felt the uncontrollable need to brood. He never brooded back home. He never had a reason to. Then again, he never had a reason for a lot of things.
The door's locked, but that won't deter anyone who might need to find him, whether he wants them to find him or not.
Look up the word "unhappy" in a dictionary and right now it would probably boast an image of one Julian Sark, who hasn't entirely gotten over the fact that (A. Sydney Bristow is here, (B. She doesn't know who he is, and (C. He's still irrevocably in love with her (and hates her for it) and he can't do anything about it.
It's just one more frustration added to an already rather substantial stockpile. Maybe he was being petty when he told Sydney that boredom would probably kill her and whether or not it will eventually break her down doesn't change the fact that it is breaking him down slowly but surely. He has no idea what to do with himself anymore and his last attempt to embrace a little bit of his old life was sloppy and haphazard and he has the scar to prove it. And, of course, little flickers of his old life keep arriving to just keep reminding him of everything he was and everything he can't be again for a variety of reasons that he couldn't even begin to list (mostly because that would require admitting a lot of things to himself that he's still denying).
Of course, he firmly believes that adjusting to this would be so much easier if the universe would stop throwing him curveballs and laying more things he doesn't know how to deal with on top of him. Sydney was just the straw that broke the camel's back and that camel was suffering from spinomalacia to begin with.
So, once again, he's back to feeling sorry for himself, much in the same way he did when he thought Sydney was dead before. His emotions regarding that poor girl are more complicated than even he could understand. Distraught by her death, distraught by her being her here.... There just isn't any middle ground and it's making him miserable.
Thus why he's in his room in the Conrad, seated with the chair turned so that it faces the window, just staring, completely expressionlessly, at the city outside while he attempts to sort this out. Not that it's ever gotten him very far before, but here lately he's felt the uncontrollable need to brood. He never brooded back home. He never had a reason to. Then again, he never had a reason for a lot of things.
The door's locked, but that won't deter anyone who might need to find him, whether he wants them to find him or not.