(no subject)
Twelve days. It was how many had passed since Charlie's birthday. Donald Maclean could pretend to not be counting, but it would have been a lie. While he was generally good at lying to himself, it seemed to him that he'd done rather too much of that as of late. He'd also seen the effects of brutal honesty bite him in the arse, again he was sure his friends would none-too-kindly point out to him. He'd not noticed any strangeness on the island himself, though he'd heard word of it by the end of the weekend. He was happy to not be included, spending most of his time near the caves or his hut. Near his friends. Safe places, insomuch as dealing with Guy's wit, Kim's barbs and Anthony's general acerbic nature could ever be called safe. Of course there'd been the presence of Josh as well, something he still was not questioning. For as much as he tried to push the other man away, he wouldn't go. Stubborn, Donald thought, much like the rest of his friends.
Today was a different day, or so he thought to himself. He'd voted for one thing, casting his ballot with a smile. It was a privelege, and not one to be overlooked. It wasn't as if he could hide forever either. Yes, he'd made mistakes, he likely would make them again. It didn't make him a villain or outcast though, he reminded himself of that as he sat in the rec room, setting the chess board up. Perhaps a game of chess would cheer him, or the bookshelf might favour him with something erudite and well-argued. He could but dream.
If the glances he shot toward the door were tinged with nervousness, could he be blamed?
[[In a surprisingly good mood, and an excellent time to meet the ex-spy. ST & LT welcome, I am off to bed soonish]]
Today was a different day, or so he thought to himself. He'd voted for one thing, casting his ballot with a smile. It was a privelege, and not one to be overlooked. It wasn't as if he could hide forever either. Yes, he'd made mistakes, he likely would make them again. It didn't make him a villain or outcast though, he reminded himself of that as he sat in the rec room, setting the chess board up. Perhaps a game of chess would cheer him, or the bookshelf might favour him with something erudite and well-argued. He could but dream.
If the glances he shot toward the door were tinged with nervousness, could he be blamed?
[[In a surprisingly good mood, and an excellent time to meet the ex-spy. ST & LT welcome, I am off to bed soonish]]