Riley can't remember what this museum is. They all kind of blur together after a while. There's old stuff. It's in display cases and hanging on the wall. Blah blah blah ( Read more... )

Riley is flopped on his back a few hundred yards from the lakeshore, hands folded comfortably over his chest. The remains of a shared snack are scattered across the makeshift blanket (his track jacket, spread across the grass).

"Preeetty sure that one's a banana split," he disagrees. "I mean, ignoring the mechanics of how there are even clouds at ( Read more... )

They're standing just inside the front door of the townhouse, in the front hall. It's a lot more spacious inside than you'd think from the outside (definitely big for one person), and while it's clearly an old building, the architecture is pretty modern and clean-looking. That's courtesy of the owner before Riley, who apparently didn't appreciate ( Read more... )

For hadyougoing

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When Riley shuffles up to the bar, his clothes are rumpled and wrinkly; there's no need for his new (nicer, more expensive) duds during a marathon Resident Evil 4 session with Mike, his former roommate. He's wearing jeans, a T-shirt, a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, his lucky scarf, and socks, with his glasses tucked into ( Read more... )

What do you do with yourself when -- well, when things take a turn you're not expecting; Riley goes with that, on days when he's feeling charitable.

It's a question that Riley Poole is endeavoring to answer.

He wiped every last trace of Chloe out of his apartment and took it all back to Milliways; he tried to take Coyote's advice, but he knows ( Read more... )

When Riley comes downstairs, he's wearing a backpack, dragging a suitcase, and carrying a box, with a heavily-weighted paper shopping bag dangling from a forearm as he makes his swift, awkward way to and through the door, his head down ( Read more... )

The guy at the front counter of the corner store blinks, when Riley emerges from the produce aisle with a blonde girl by the hand who he hadn't had when he'd wandered back there a second ago, but Riley doesn't give him so much as a second glance; he dumps the head of lettuce he'd been considering into a display full of Hershey's products, and he ( Read more... )

Riley takes the front steps of the Gates-Chase mansion a couple of stairs at a time, whistling a tune that would be off-key, if it wasn't so tuneless. He's cheerful this afternoon (hard not to be, being back in D.C. after he's been out of it so long), the Ferrari parked in the drive behind him and a paper shopping bag in hand ( Read more... )

In the morning, Riley is settled into a circular booth in the Talon, his back against the wall and his feet drawn up onto the seat. His face is pinched -- with exhaustion, worry, frustration -- and he has a small, silver laptop on the table in front of him, along with his bigger MacBook (they're attached via a cable) and a cold cup of coffee. ( Read more... )