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[homerinexile]

Donald Maclean was good at avoiding things. Avoiding issues, avoiding people, except of course, when he felt the need to tell all, to deal with things now and in the immediate. To say he wasn't a man built of contradictions was a lie

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[1000_cranes]

Charlie wasn't running, but she was walking, with headphones in her ears, listening to a song which her Momma had loved as she walked. She'd been running so much she'd got blisters, and she was barefoot, walking through the cool grass, with her hair in long braids.

When she saw him sitting outside the hut, she waved her hand and she smiled, and she ignored the way that her stomach both lurched and went tight at the same time.

Girl, pull yourself together.

[homerinexile]

His fingers tightened around the glass, but when he saw her smile, her braids swinging slightly... Donald returned the smile and waved back, beckoning her over.

At the same time he felt another pang of guilt, this time in his choice of hut. He'd known it was close to Charlie's, and subconsciously, it may have been why he'd chosen it.

[1000_cranes]

Charlie unhooked her earbuds, letting them dangle against the front of her dress as she walked towards him, her skirt swirling around her legs.

"Whatcha drinkin', sugar?"

[homerinexile]

"A very nice scotch, and some ice. Sipping more than drinking." It was his first but he was considering having a few more. "Would you like something? I'm well stocked."

[todddowney_said]

The rec room was overrun with people, children, and various animals. Mort had nothing against any of the above, but he had a shiny new laptop that was giving him a chance to do something worth some energy and it was difficult to tap into inner genius when there were random puppies attack his pant legs. Ner mind the fact his inner genius had taken a little vacation logn before he'd even arrived to this place, but it was even more difficult with constant interuptions.

That determined, he was dressed with his new computer snug in a carrying bag, carefully slung over his shoulder at the moment, and walking down to path trying to find a shady place to sit where it wouldn't be too hot, too wet, or likely to have some sort of jungle cat leap from the trees and tear out his jugular. Instead, he end up crossing paths with a man. With a bucket.

"Err," he starts eloquently, raising a hand in greeting as he approached. "Hi. Good afternoon?"

[homerinexile]

Donald smiled at the man, the ice clinking in the bucket. "Hello."

"I'd say use this path often, but it likely would sound odd, wouldn't it?'

[todddowney_said]

"That...would, actually, but in an understandable way." There were only so many paths afterall, and only so many places. It'd be like walking up to a woman at the Hub and asking if she came there often, it answered itself.

"That's a...lovely bucket you have there." Somewhere on the island or in his own head, which actually still could be the island, a Southern psychopath snickered behind his hands.

[homerinexile]

"Thank you." It was a lovely bucket, silver and engraved, and had appeared with his drinks cabinet. "I thought scotch is much nicer on the rocks."