(no subject)
Images flickered on the screen in the rec room. Video that Mark had shot in its unedited form, everything that was left on his camera, everything that he'd left behind.
It was Maureen's idea to watch it, and Prior mostly just went along with it, which is basically all he'd been doing since Mark had disappeared. Going along with things. Trying hard not to think too much for himself because when he did, he either felt devastated or guilty.
Prior didn't remember much from that night in New York, but he remembered being with Roger. Just flashes. Glimpses of mouths, skin. He wasn't sure how far it had gone, and he'd still been trying to decide how and what to tell Mark when the option had been yanked away from him.
Maureen felt kind of guilty too, because she'd been the one to keep pushing cranberry and vodkas at Prior, in the hopes that he and Roger might get back together and Mark would be left for her... which, again, was no longer an option.
Prior was curled up on the couch, a patchwork quilt wrapped around his body. He was starting to look too thin again. Or maybe it was just that the weight of his misery was weighing him down, drawing his face.
Maureen was on the other side of the room, leaning against a wall, a cigarette twitching in her fingers. She wouldn't light it up inside even if she was dying to. She still hadn't acknowledged that she'd officially started smoking again.
On the screen: Prior in drag, dressed as Debbie Harry and singing at Roger's birthday.
On the couch, he sighed and dropped his head.
Maureen tapped the cigarette idly against her palm and muttered, "This place sucks," even though she wasn't really talking to Prior.
[OOC: One double dose of Mark-related emo. Pick your poison. Feel free to just tag one, or if you want them both, just let me know!]
It was Maureen's idea to watch it, and Prior mostly just went along with it, which is basically all he'd been doing since Mark had disappeared. Going along with things. Trying hard not to think too much for himself because when he did, he either felt devastated or guilty.
Prior didn't remember much from that night in New York, but he remembered being with Roger. Just flashes. Glimpses of mouths, skin. He wasn't sure how far it had gone, and he'd still been trying to decide how and what to tell Mark when the option had been yanked away from him.
Maureen felt kind of guilty too, because she'd been the one to keep pushing cranberry and vodkas at Prior, in the hopes that he and Roger might get back together and Mark would be left for her... which, again, was no longer an option.
Prior was curled up on the couch, a patchwork quilt wrapped around his body. He was starting to look too thin again. Or maybe it was just that the weight of his misery was weighing him down, drawing his face.
Maureen was on the other side of the room, leaning against a wall, a cigarette twitching in her fingers. She wouldn't light it up inside even if she was dying to. She still hadn't acknowledged that she'd officially started smoking again.
On the screen: Prior in drag, dressed as Debbie Harry and singing at Roger's birthday.
On the couch, he sighed and dropped his head.
Maureen tapped the cigarette idly against her palm and muttered, "This place sucks," even though she wasn't really talking to Prior.
[OOC: One double dose of Mark-related emo. Pick your poison. Feel free to just tag one, or if you want them both, just let me know!]