The sun helps the headaches. She's lying there with her eyes closed, and then she becomes aware of someone standing not far from her. She lifts her head and watches him throw his shoe at the sea. one eyebrow twitches.
"No, I--" He looked down at her, this pretty redhead with the cute southern accent whom he would've been far more interested in four hundred days ago, then he looked back at the ocean, a frown turning down his lips as he turned in a slow circle, half expecting the real world to be hiding just behind him.
God, his head was killing him, he knew that much. Noon and he wasn't drunk, but he had a killer hangover and it was taking away to long to process even simple things like where he'd put his house keys, let alone answering any questions she'd asked him.
Shifting the bag in his arms, he looked out over the water again then back at her and said, "I'm sorry, what?"
Miguel is pretty pleasantly baked by this point in the day. The shrinks always call it self-medicating, when he takes drugs that don't come from the clinic, but it's not like he's snorting heroin behind the compound or hitting a crack pipe.
He's just putting the stash Lloyd left behind to good use, keeping himself calm and happy with something that he can't OD on when things take a turn for the worse. No harm in that.
Except the harm he's considering doing to this guy if he doesn't share those twinkies. Even if he does look just like that friend of Jim's, the bitchy one with the really gay wedding to two dudes, Miguel doesn't care. He has put it all behind him because nothing appeals more to him in this moment, on this beach, than some processed sugar and cream filling. "Hey man," he says, stopping next to the guy, his concentration on the snacks broken only when he follows his gaze out to the water and starts to zone out for a minute.
He snaps back, blinking. "Where the hell did you get those," he asks, pointing at the bag
"7-Eleven," Tom frowned, holding a little tighter to the bag, because even Tom knows the dangers of a stoned guy near a bag of twinkies.
He needed to find clothes. He needed to stop wandering the beach feeling sorry for himself. He needed to get home, and he'd figure out how to do all those things eventually. Right then, he was pretty content with jut feeling like a loser.
Dropping the bag to the sand, he sat down heavily beside it, scrubbing both hands over his face and then reaching in to grab a pair of wrapped yellow sponge cakes. "Here," he muttered, tossing it to the guy.
"Where the hell did you find a 7-Eleven," he asks instead, tearing happily into the wrapper, thinking the only thing that would make this better--better than the cakes, better than the now-unfamiliar sound of plastic crinkling--is one of those giant fountain sodas. Or a slushie. Or a slushie mixed with Mountain Dew from the fountain machine.
Jesus, he could probably murder someone for a Mountain Dew, right now. He can't remember the last time he had it.
Chewing on the first cake once he's stuffed most of it in his mouth, he takes in its provider, standing there in a nasty robe with a plastic bag of snacks and Jack like some cheap, creepy-uncle version of Santa Claus, and he's starting to think this isn't Jim's friend. "So you just got here," he states through a mouthful of twinkie, a little disappointed that the island hasn't spontaneously grown a 7-Eleven somewhere.
"Yeah. Wherever the hell here is," Tom sighed, rolling a kink out of his neck and then leaning over to rummage around in his bag.
"A girl already sort of explained it," he said, cracking open the lid on the orange juice and taking a taking a big gulp, "but it kind of sounds like a whole lot of bullshit, to be honest. I mean, magic island? What the hell's that all about?"
Wow, what's his face has really let himself go since the last time Rachel saw him. I mean, being kind of dirty around here is one thing, but dude looks older. And possibly drunk.
"You're totally going to regret that when you walk home. Through the jungle, she points out, hands on hips.
"Uh, yeah. If I was planning on walking home through the jungle, which I'm kind of not," he said, tossing the bag to the sand and leaning back against a convenient palm tree, trying to work some of the bleariness out of his eyes with the heels of his hands.
He kicked off his other sandal, and the feeling of sand between his toes might've been almost nice if it weren't for the soul-crushing depression.
"Dude, how else are going to get home?" she asks. Rachel is not going to be responsible for this guy dying of heatstroke. She eyes the bag a little closer.
Pretty sure the island hasn't opened a mini-part. Damn.
"Hey, you're a new guy, huh? Like, did you just magically appear here from home?"
"Uh, hey. No, it's-- Just leave it," he said, taking a step forward and then half a step back, warring with the idea of just turning around and walking away.
Now wasn't the best time in the world for him to be meeting new people.
Joey's brow furrowed briefly before he shrugged it off, figuring he could just get it later for the guy.
With a light groan, he climbed off the jet ski and dropped to the beach, rubbing his sandy hands together. "You okay, dude?" Joey recognised him but didn't tend to see him around much. Then again, Joey usually just kept his eyes open for the women.
There was a loud, echoing squawk, a crash, and Violet Baudelaire came tumbling out of the treeline, feathers and sticks in her hair. She seemed like she was in a good mood, for all that she had a slingshot in her hand. "You don't win forever, bird!"
She shook her head as she squinted into the jungle, before she, in one practiced movement, stuck the slingshot into the back of her shorts and tugged the ribbon that was tying her two braids together before she turned around, her eyes immediately widening comically when she saw Cuthbert standing on the beach. In a bathrobe.
She opened her mouth to speak as she jogged closer, only to pull herself up short when she was near enough to see that this? Not Bert. In any way, shape or form. "I-"
Of course, just that word came off very well, for all that it was choked and confused and obviously not that thought out. Violet cleared her throat, and then stuck out her hand. "Hi. I'm Violet. You're...?"
That was at least the second person to do a weird double-take when they saw him. Frowning, he looked down at himself, at the dingy bathrobe, the one sandal, and he thought... Oh.
"Tom. I'm kind of new," he said, as if to explain... well, everything.
Violet looked down at her hand, and then pulled it back, shoving it in her pocket. "Hi, Tom. I'm... I guess I'm not new anymore, but I know how it is." She shrugged, and then looked behind her for a second. "You know, there's a place with clothes and showers, and a bed?" She took a second to point over her shoulder. "It's- I mean, I can show you. If you want."
She tugged her lip between her teeth. "I've been here since June."
Wincing when she pulled her hand away -- he hadn't even noticed it was there -- he said, "Yeah. Yeah, that'd be good. I don't really want to find out how long it'd take for people to start calling me Crazy Bathrobe Guy."
June. "Holy shit. Seriously? June, like, a year ago? That June?"
Comments 54
"...You don't think you might need that?"
Reply
Jungle. Ocean. Right.
"So... this doesn't look like a street to you?"
Reply
She really isn't feeling well enough for this, but Charlie pushes up off the sand, dusting down the backs of her thighs as she walks towards them.
"Where are you from, sweetness?"
Reply
God, his head was killing him, he knew that much. Noon and he wasn't drunk, but he had a killer hangover and it was taking away to long to process even simple things like where he'd put his house keys, let alone answering any questions she'd asked him.
Shifting the bag in his arms, he looked out over the water again then back at her and said, "I'm sorry, what?"
Reply
He's just putting the stash Lloyd left behind to good use, keeping himself calm and happy with something that he can't OD on when things take a turn for the worse. No harm in that.
Except the harm he's considering doing to this guy if he doesn't share those twinkies. Even if he does look just like that friend of Jim's, the bitchy one with the really gay wedding to two dudes, Miguel doesn't care. He has put it all behind him because nothing appeals more to him in this moment, on this beach, than some processed sugar and cream filling. "Hey man," he says, stopping next to the guy, his concentration on the snacks broken only when he follows his gaze out to the water and starts to zone out for a minute.
He snaps back, blinking. "Where the hell did you get those," he asks, pointing at the bag
Reply
He needed to find clothes. He needed to stop wandering the beach feeling sorry for himself. He needed to get home, and he'd figure out how to do all those things eventually. Right then, he was pretty content with jut feeling like a loser.
Dropping the bag to the sand, he sat down heavily beside it, scrubbing both hands over his face and then reaching in to grab a pair of wrapped yellow sponge cakes. "Here," he muttered, tossing it to the guy.
Reply
Jesus, he could probably murder someone for a Mountain Dew, right now. He can't remember the last time he had it.
Chewing on the first cake once he's stuffed most of it in his mouth, he takes in its provider, standing there in a nasty robe with a plastic bag of snacks and Jack like some cheap, creepy-uncle version of Santa Claus, and he's starting to think this isn't Jim's friend. "So you just got here," he states through a mouthful of twinkie, a little disappointed that the island hasn't spontaneously grown a 7-Eleven somewhere.
Reply
"A girl already sort of explained it," he said, cracking open the lid on the orange juice and taking a taking a big gulp, "but it kind of sounds like a whole lot of bullshit, to be honest. I mean, magic island? What the hell's that all about?"
Reply
"You're totally going to regret that when you walk home. Through the jungle, she points out, hands on hips.
Reply
He kicked off his other sandal, and the feeling of sand between his toes might've been almost nice if it weren't for the soul-crushing depression.
Reply
Pretty sure the island hasn't opened a mini-part. Damn.
"Hey, you're a new guy, huh? Like, did you just magically appear here from home?"
Reply
"My apartment's kind of in LA, so I don't really know how I'm going to walk there."
Reply
"Whoops." Joey stood up and peered over the front of the jet ski, down at the wet sand. "You don't want that back, do you?" he called out.
Reply
Now wasn't the best time in the world for him to be meeting new people.
Reply
With a light groan, he climbed off the jet ski and dropped to the beach, rubbing his sandy hands together. "You okay, dude?" Joey recognised him but didn't tend to see him around much. Then again, Joey usually just kept his eyes open for the women.
Reply
A long year, but even Tom wasn't ready to spill his guts to this guy. Not yet.
Reply
She shook her head as she squinted into the jungle, before she, in one practiced movement, stuck the slingshot into the back of her shorts and tugged the ribbon that was tying her two braids together before she turned around, her eyes immediately widening comically when she saw Cuthbert standing on the beach. In a bathrobe.
She opened her mouth to speak as she jogged closer, only to pull herself up short when she was near enough to see that this? Not Bert. In any way, shape or form. "I-"
Of course, just that word came off very well, for all that it was choked and confused and obviously not that thought out. Violet cleared her throat, and then stuck out her hand. "Hi. I'm Violet. You're...?"
Reply
"Tom. I'm kind of new," he said, as if to explain... well, everything.
Reply
She tugged her lip between her teeth. "I've been here since June."
Reply
June. "Holy shit. Seriously? June, like, a year ago? That June?"
Reply
Leave a comment