Lights Out For Darker Skies (Chapter 2a)
Apr. 1st, 2010 09:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moose_mcmoose I cut this chapter in half as it seemed to work better that way.
Title: Lights Out For Darker Skies (chapter 2a/?)
Characters: House, Wilson, Cuddy, several OCs.
Rating: PG-13
Words: 2325
Disclaimer: I don't own them. A shame, as then I could buy some new jeans.
Summary: This is some batshit crazy AU thing I've been writing in my sleep deprived hours and from watching too many films (more specifically Brazil, copious amounts of zombie/disaster films, just generally weird shit). House is posed an interesting but worrying question, and two more men join the hunt for the seemingly elusive James Wilson.
Link to Part 1
Chapter 2a- The Invisible Man
"What about him?" House laced his fingers over his stomach, leaning his head back to avoid the stinging smell of strong tobacco that wafted from Bradfield's direction. The photograph Bradfield was holding was an old one. House recognised it straight away as being from Wilson's medical file from his constant spying on his best friend's health developments in the past. He knew how he had got a hold of it; a quick fifty dollars in the pocket of Lou the Janitor and he was allowed access for the evening, but how burly Granite Boy had got hold of such a picture was something of a mystery.
"I, and a few other people I'm sure, would like to know where he is." Bradfield stood up right, pushing a hand through the crease on his shirt once again.
"What are you? A loan shark or something? Did he bone your wife a few years back? Because that has nothing to do with me." House raised his palms. He knew Wilson had no debts and was never stupid enough to get involved with another man's wife, especially when the guy looked the way this guy did, but stalling was his only chance to glean information without being overt about it.
"I'm offended that you think of me so far down the chain Doctor House. You really think a loan shark could afford a suit like this?" An index finger and a thumb traced the buttons, before a flutter of a arm revealed an Armani label mark on the inside lining.
"A very, very skilled loan shark perhaps."
"Bradfield smirked, and turned to observe Cuddy still pacing on the balcony, her hair being battered by the incoming wind. "No, no. My job involves a lot more negotiation than that. And as you can see by my wares I'm a very good negotiator." He turned back and placed his hand in his left pocket. "Now, enough of the pointless small talk. I've heard you don't enjoy that sort of thing which makes this even more pointless and unbearable. Unless this is your pathetic attempt in stalling me."
"Of course not." House tried to speak with sincerity but that constant undercurrent of sarcasm still cut through despite his best attempts. "I just wanna know who I am talking to here."
"It's not important who I am. It's just important for you to know that I want to help your friend. But I can't help him if I don't know where is." Bradfield grasped the switch blade in his pocket. This stubbled interviewee was playing hard ball and he had no time for such petty games. He needed to find this James Wilson before anyone else could lay claim to him and if he needed to use strong persuasive techniques, then so be it.
House adjusted his seat, swinging his legs under the desk, a safe vantage point to rub his aching thigh. If Wilson was here he'd be listening to a not so enthralling semi-lecture on how the increased pain was psychosomatic. House had to chuckle inwardly at the sad irony that if Wilson was here, he wouldn't have the increased pain to contend with. But the irony was of little consequence to him at the moment as the pain was excruciating. "I haven't seen him in months."
"Really? I was under the impression he was your best friend."
House grimaced. Talk about probing a sore point. "He is." The dull ache had turned to a searing pulse.
"And you don't know where he is?" Bradfield slapped the photograph down onto the desk hard, the items upon the it shuddering under the force. "I'm finding that very hard to believe, Doctor House."
"Oh I know where he is. Locked up in some lunatic rest home near Philadelphia. So if you're looking for him you'll find him there." House flicked the photograph from the desk, laying it in between his fingers for Bradfield to take back into his possession. He couldn't bare to stare at that face any longer. "Not that you'll get much out of him."
"Well this is interesting." Bradfield whisked the photograph out of House's fingertips and carefully shuffled it into the inside pocket of his suited jacket.
House raised his eyebrow, surprised at the wave of smugness that washed Granite Boy's already smug enough face.
"Seems I know more about your friend than you do." Bradfield smiled and fastened the two bottom buttons of his jacket and straightened it out with a quick tug. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time Doctor House. Looks like I won't be needing your help."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" House narrowed his gaze. He wasn't sure if Granite Boy was truly leaving or if this was some subversive negotiating tactic.
"I mean what I say. You are of little use to me. You don't have information that I don't already know." Bradfield lazily wandered to the balcony door and slid open the partition, allowing a frosty looking Cuddy to step in from the balcony. "So I'll be on my way. Thank you for help Doctor House. And for your hospitality Doctor Cuddy."
House rose from his chair with urgency. Granite Boy wasn't going to get away that easily. "If I didn't have any new information then you already knew where Wilson was. Why come to me and ask questions about his whereabouts if you already knew?"
Cuddy placed a hand on House's arm. "Leave it House. Let the man be on his way."
"You're a clever man Doctor House." Bradfield nodded and slipped a cigarette from his top pocket. "You work it out."
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
South Street Diner, Philadelphia
"So this is what you guys get paid for? Letting crazy people run around on the street!" Norah wildly waved her spatula in the air with purpose, sending slivers of raw egg flying into the air around her. "You sons of a bitches are meant to keep us safe."
"Mrs Michaels will you please sit down?" A weary officer gestured to one of the leathered chairs nearby. "The more information we can get now, the quicker we can investigate." Agent Saltzman ran a dry, cracked finger across his eyebrow, wiping away a rogue droplet of sweat from his haggard, hang-dog face. The morning had not gone well and this ranting cook was not making the situation any better, nor was it assisting in helping his beautifully blooming migraine to graciously fuck off. He took a gulp of black coffee and grimaced at the distinct lack of sweetener.
"If you boneheads were doing your job properly then you wouldn't need to be here." The spatula came soaring down to meet the counter top. A puddle of yellow gooey liquid pooled onto the metal beneath.
"I understand your concern." And I want to shove that spatula down your throat. "Now if we can get a description of the man then we can start making progress."
A angry, bull like wheeze blew from Norah's nostrils. That one last wheeze calming her bubbling anger, for now. "I didn't get a great look at him."
"That's fine. Just tell me what you saw." Please, so I can get the hell outta here. Saltzman would have preferred a couple of Advil, possibly a giant duvet, maybe some warm, comforting pillows instead of sitting in a crummy diner at nine the morning taking a statement from a woman who looked like the closest living representation to William Shatner in a dress. But he can't have everything. Smoothly, he slides a black book from his pocket and pen from the other.
"Well Darnella over there came over with the order. French toast and some coffee. She told me it was some strange guy." Norah scratched aggressively beneath her hair net. "Didn't get a good look at him until she told me Mitchell was gonna have a word with him. I just remember him being pretty tall. I mean, hell, I've gotta damn dog taller than Mitchell, but he was pretty tall."
"How tall? Approximately."
Norah puffed out her cheeks dramatically. "I'd say... 'Bout six feet tall. Probably no taller than that. Definitely taller than your average guy."
"Okay." Saltzman pushed the pen top to his lips. Nothing like a wonderfully vague description to go on. "Notice anything else? Hair colour, eye colour? What he was wearing?"
"Um...Oh Darnella mentioned he sounded local. That's why she weren't so bothered about him. Just thought he was a guy passing through or something. He had dark kinda hair. Brown I think. Apart from that I got nothing. I mean he ran like the damn wind when Mitchell said he called the cops."
Saltzman pushed his book back into his pocket, smiling at the flustered cook. He wasn't sure whether he was truly thankful for the helpful information or thankful for the fact she had nothing more to say. He decided on the latter as the former betrayed the meaning of 'helpful information'. He might as well of surmised that they would looking for a 'normal looking man' on his own. Would have saved him the trouble of talking to anyone with this god forsaken headache. "Thank you for your help Mrs Michaels. I'm sure your information will be of help to us."
"Well I damn well hope so." Norah opened up the palm of her hand. "By the way, that'll be two dollars fifty for the coffee."
Agent Reed had a far more prosperous discussion with Darnella and Mr Mitchell. Both giving far more detail than the Norah's fuzzy outline of the suspect.
"Do you remember what he was wearing? Anything distinctive?"
Darnella shook her head. "Not really. Just an old pair of jeans, ya know, kinda faded. Old looking. Like they'd been washed a thousand times." Next to her, Mitchell merely nodded. "Yeah and um...just a plain sweater and a black coat. I dunno. He just looked like a guy, ya know?"
Agent Reed placed a comforting arm on Darnella's shoulder. "I know this is difficult for you. It's difficult for everybody but you did the right thing calling us. And thanks to you two we have a pretty good description of the guy."
"But what if he's dangerous and we've let him go?" Darnella rubbed her tired, stinging eyes.
"Listen, we get a lot of these calls. Usually, they turn out to be nothing. Just some travelling soul wandering through. I'm sure that's the case here so don't worry about it. We'll try and keep you informed of what's happening but I just advise you to work as normal. Don't consume yourself with it. This is our job now and I promise that we'll do our best." Reed caught the glimmer of Saltzman's diligently polished shoes from the corner of his eyes. Seems his partner's interrogation of the imposing looking cook was over and obviously fruitless judging by the weary gait of the approaching feet.
"Thank you." Darnella squeezed her apron in an attempt to qualm her quivering hands.
"Take care." Reed flashed a smile that Hollywood would be proud of. Saltzman would regularly joke saying Reed had missed his calling as a model advertising toothpaste, but Reed guessed Saltzman was just jealous of the fact that he didn't look like a bastard love child of Droopy Dawg and Richard Nixon.
Saltzman was scuffing the floor tiles with agitation when Reed paced up to his side. "You get anything?" Saltzman nonchalantly stuck a little finger in his ear, rummaging for whatever hidden gems may be lurking in his ear hole.
"Well the girl said the guy was tall. On the slim side,. She couldn't guess the age. Somewhere between 30 and mid-40s. Said he had one of those weird faces that you can't really tell with you know?."
"Yeah."
"Brown eyes. Brown hair. Wearing jeans, a sweater and a jacket. Probably local she said. Apart from that it's pretty slim pickings." Reed shoved his own black book out of sight. "Mitchell couldn't add much to what the girl said. Just said the guy wasn't that strong and his hair was pretty thick. And the that the guy freaked out when he said he was gonna call the cops."
Both men strolled outside into the chilly morning air, their breaths curling up into the sky.
Reed reached for his inside jacket pocket, pulling out a loose cigarette and a lighter.
"Hey! I thought you quit those things."
"I'm a social smoker." Reed attempted the lighter but the stiff breeze sent the flame flickering away as fast as it came.
"This is social?"
"I'm outside aren't I? I'm with a person."
"Shit." Saltzman coughed as a bubble of air caught itself in his throat. "If this is social for you then I fucking feel for you. And your wife."
"Your sympathy is noted." Reed gave up on the seventh attempt of making a flame. Even cupping the lighter within his hands wasn't working. He stuffed the lame lighter back into his pocket along with the cigarette, now relieved of its duties. "So what d'ya think? What have we got here?"
Saltzman hummed, running a hand across his unshaven cheek, before massaging his aching temple. "I dunno. Something doesn't fit. If he was just a regular guy why run? Why didn't he have his cards on him?"
"That's what I was thinking. You reckon he's gotta record?"
"Or worse."
Reed paused, registering the solemn look on his partner's face. "You think-?"
"Well we know three people are missing from that place 30 miles west of here."
"Brookheads?"
Saltzman waved a hand; a empty gesticulation. "Whatever it's called. What if he's from there?"
"Seriously, Sean. You think he's one of the infected escapees?"
"I'm just saying don't rule it out." Saltzman whipped a key from his back pocket, jabbing a finger on the fob button, unlocking the doors to the car.
"But if that's the case then-"
"Then we have a serious problem."
Title: Lights Out For Darker Skies (chapter 2a/?)
Characters: House, Wilson, Cuddy, several OCs.
Rating: PG-13
Words: 2325
Disclaimer: I don't own them. A shame, as then I could buy some new jeans.
Summary: This is some batshit crazy AU thing I've been writing in my sleep deprived hours and from watching too many films (more specifically Brazil, copious amounts of zombie/disaster films, just generally weird shit). House is posed an interesting but worrying question, and two more men join the hunt for the seemingly elusive James Wilson.
Link to Part 1
Chapter 2a- The Invisible Man
"What about him?" House laced his fingers over his stomach, leaning his head back to avoid the stinging smell of strong tobacco that wafted from Bradfield's direction. The photograph Bradfield was holding was an old one. House recognised it straight away as being from Wilson's medical file from his constant spying on his best friend's health developments in the past. He knew how he had got a hold of it; a quick fifty dollars in the pocket of Lou the Janitor and he was allowed access for the evening, but how burly Granite Boy had got hold of such a picture was something of a mystery.
"I, and a few other people I'm sure, would like to know where he is." Bradfield stood up right, pushing a hand through the crease on his shirt once again.
"What are you? A loan shark or something? Did he bone your wife a few years back? Because that has nothing to do with me." House raised his palms. He knew Wilson had no debts and was never stupid enough to get involved with another man's wife, especially when the guy looked the way this guy did, but stalling was his only chance to glean information without being overt about it.
"I'm offended that you think of me so far down the chain Doctor House. You really think a loan shark could afford a suit like this?" An index finger and a thumb traced the buttons, before a flutter of a arm revealed an Armani label mark on the inside lining.
"A very, very skilled loan shark perhaps."
"Bradfield smirked, and turned to observe Cuddy still pacing on the balcony, her hair being battered by the incoming wind. "No, no. My job involves a lot more negotiation than that. And as you can see by my wares I'm a very good negotiator." He turned back and placed his hand in his left pocket. "Now, enough of the pointless small talk. I've heard you don't enjoy that sort of thing which makes this even more pointless and unbearable. Unless this is your pathetic attempt in stalling me."
"Of course not." House tried to speak with sincerity but that constant undercurrent of sarcasm still cut through despite his best attempts. "I just wanna know who I am talking to here."
"It's not important who I am. It's just important for you to know that I want to help your friend. But I can't help him if I don't know where is." Bradfield grasped the switch blade in his pocket. This stubbled interviewee was playing hard ball and he had no time for such petty games. He needed to find this James Wilson before anyone else could lay claim to him and if he needed to use strong persuasive techniques, then so be it.
House adjusted his seat, swinging his legs under the desk, a safe vantage point to rub his aching thigh. If Wilson was here he'd be listening to a not so enthralling semi-lecture on how the increased pain was psychosomatic. House had to chuckle inwardly at the sad irony that if Wilson was here, he wouldn't have the increased pain to contend with. But the irony was of little consequence to him at the moment as the pain was excruciating. "I haven't seen him in months."
"Really? I was under the impression he was your best friend."
House grimaced. Talk about probing a sore point. "He is." The dull ache had turned to a searing pulse.
"And you don't know where he is?" Bradfield slapped the photograph down onto the desk hard, the items upon the it shuddering under the force. "I'm finding that very hard to believe, Doctor House."
"Oh I know where he is. Locked up in some lunatic rest home near Philadelphia. So if you're looking for him you'll find him there." House flicked the photograph from the desk, laying it in between his fingers for Bradfield to take back into his possession. He couldn't bare to stare at that face any longer. "Not that you'll get much out of him."
"Well this is interesting." Bradfield whisked the photograph out of House's fingertips and carefully shuffled it into the inside pocket of his suited jacket.
House raised his eyebrow, surprised at the wave of smugness that washed Granite Boy's already smug enough face.
"Seems I know more about your friend than you do." Bradfield smiled and fastened the two bottom buttons of his jacket and straightened it out with a quick tug. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time Doctor House. Looks like I won't be needing your help."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" House narrowed his gaze. He wasn't sure if Granite Boy was truly leaving or if this was some subversive negotiating tactic.
"I mean what I say. You are of little use to me. You don't have information that I don't already know." Bradfield lazily wandered to the balcony door and slid open the partition, allowing a frosty looking Cuddy to step in from the balcony. "So I'll be on my way. Thank you for help Doctor House. And for your hospitality Doctor Cuddy."
House rose from his chair with urgency. Granite Boy wasn't going to get away that easily. "If I didn't have any new information then you already knew where Wilson was. Why come to me and ask questions about his whereabouts if you already knew?"
Cuddy placed a hand on House's arm. "Leave it House. Let the man be on his way."
"You're a clever man Doctor House." Bradfield nodded and slipped a cigarette from his top pocket. "You work it out."
__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
South Street Diner, Philadelphia
"So this is what you guys get paid for? Letting crazy people run around on the street!" Norah wildly waved her spatula in the air with purpose, sending slivers of raw egg flying into the air around her. "You sons of a bitches are meant to keep us safe."
"Mrs Michaels will you please sit down?" A weary officer gestured to one of the leathered chairs nearby. "The more information we can get now, the quicker we can investigate." Agent Saltzman ran a dry, cracked finger across his eyebrow, wiping away a rogue droplet of sweat from his haggard, hang-dog face. The morning had not gone well and this ranting cook was not making the situation any better, nor was it assisting in helping his beautifully blooming migraine to graciously fuck off. He took a gulp of black coffee and grimaced at the distinct lack of sweetener.
"If you boneheads were doing your job properly then you wouldn't need to be here." The spatula came soaring down to meet the counter top. A puddle of yellow gooey liquid pooled onto the metal beneath.
"I understand your concern." And I want to shove that spatula down your throat. "Now if we can get a description of the man then we can start making progress."
A angry, bull like wheeze blew from Norah's nostrils. That one last wheeze calming her bubbling anger, for now. "I didn't get a great look at him."
"That's fine. Just tell me what you saw." Please, so I can get the hell outta here. Saltzman would have preferred a couple of Advil, possibly a giant duvet, maybe some warm, comforting pillows instead of sitting in a crummy diner at nine the morning taking a statement from a woman who looked like the closest living representation to William Shatner in a dress. But he can't have everything. Smoothly, he slides a black book from his pocket and pen from the other.
"Well Darnella over there came over with the order. French toast and some coffee. She told me it was some strange guy." Norah scratched aggressively beneath her hair net. "Didn't get a good look at him until she told me Mitchell was gonna have a word with him. I just remember him being pretty tall. I mean, hell, I've gotta damn dog taller than Mitchell, but he was pretty tall."
"How tall? Approximately."
Norah puffed out her cheeks dramatically. "I'd say... 'Bout six feet tall. Probably no taller than that. Definitely taller than your average guy."
"Okay." Saltzman pushed the pen top to his lips. Nothing like a wonderfully vague description to go on. "Notice anything else? Hair colour, eye colour? What he was wearing?"
"Um...Oh Darnella mentioned he sounded local. That's why she weren't so bothered about him. Just thought he was a guy passing through or something. He had dark kinda hair. Brown I think. Apart from that I got nothing. I mean he ran like the damn wind when Mitchell said he called the cops."
Saltzman pushed his book back into his pocket, smiling at the flustered cook. He wasn't sure whether he was truly thankful for the helpful information or thankful for the fact she had nothing more to say. He decided on the latter as the former betrayed the meaning of 'helpful information'. He might as well of surmised that they would looking for a 'normal looking man' on his own. Would have saved him the trouble of talking to anyone with this god forsaken headache. "Thank you for your help Mrs Michaels. I'm sure your information will be of help to us."
"Well I damn well hope so." Norah opened up the palm of her hand. "By the way, that'll be two dollars fifty for the coffee."
Agent Reed had a far more prosperous discussion with Darnella and Mr Mitchell. Both giving far more detail than the Norah's fuzzy outline of the suspect.
"Do you remember what he was wearing? Anything distinctive?"
Darnella shook her head. "Not really. Just an old pair of jeans, ya know, kinda faded. Old looking. Like they'd been washed a thousand times." Next to her, Mitchell merely nodded. "Yeah and um...just a plain sweater and a black coat. I dunno. He just looked like a guy, ya know?"
Agent Reed placed a comforting arm on Darnella's shoulder. "I know this is difficult for you. It's difficult for everybody but you did the right thing calling us. And thanks to you two we have a pretty good description of the guy."
"But what if he's dangerous and we've let him go?" Darnella rubbed her tired, stinging eyes.
"Listen, we get a lot of these calls. Usually, they turn out to be nothing. Just some travelling soul wandering through. I'm sure that's the case here so don't worry about it. We'll try and keep you informed of what's happening but I just advise you to work as normal. Don't consume yourself with it. This is our job now and I promise that we'll do our best." Reed caught the glimmer of Saltzman's diligently polished shoes from the corner of his eyes. Seems his partner's interrogation of the imposing looking cook was over and obviously fruitless judging by the weary gait of the approaching feet.
"Thank you." Darnella squeezed her apron in an attempt to qualm her quivering hands.
"Take care." Reed flashed a smile that Hollywood would be proud of. Saltzman would regularly joke saying Reed had missed his calling as a model advertising toothpaste, but Reed guessed Saltzman was just jealous of the fact that he didn't look like a bastard love child of Droopy Dawg and Richard Nixon.
Saltzman was scuffing the floor tiles with agitation when Reed paced up to his side. "You get anything?" Saltzman nonchalantly stuck a little finger in his ear, rummaging for whatever hidden gems may be lurking in his ear hole.
"Well the girl said the guy was tall. On the slim side,. She couldn't guess the age. Somewhere between 30 and mid-40s. Said he had one of those weird faces that you can't really tell with you know?."
"Yeah."
"Brown eyes. Brown hair. Wearing jeans, a sweater and a jacket. Probably local she said. Apart from that it's pretty slim pickings." Reed shoved his own black book out of sight. "Mitchell couldn't add much to what the girl said. Just said the guy wasn't that strong and his hair was pretty thick. And the that the guy freaked out when he said he was gonna call the cops."
Both men strolled outside into the chilly morning air, their breaths curling up into the sky.
Reed reached for his inside jacket pocket, pulling out a loose cigarette and a lighter.
"Hey! I thought you quit those things."
"I'm a social smoker." Reed attempted the lighter but the stiff breeze sent the flame flickering away as fast as it came.
"This is social?"
"I'm outside aren't I? I'm with a person."
"Shit." Saltzman coughed as a bubble of air caught itself in his throat. "If this is social for you then I fucking feel for you. And your wife."
"Your sympathy is noted." Reed gave up on the seventh attempt of making a flame. Even cupping the lighter within his hands wasn't working. He stuffed the lame lighter back into his pocket along with the cigarette, now relieved of its duties. "So what d'ya think? What have we got here?"
Saltzman hummed, running a hand across his unshaven cheek, before massaging his aching temple. "I dunno. Something doesn't fit. If he was just a regular guy why run? Why didn't he have his cards on him?"
"That's what I was thinking. You reckon he's gotta record?"
"Or worse."
Reed paused, registering the solemn look on his partner's face. "You think-?"
"Well we know three people are missing from that place 30 miles west of here."
"Brookheads?"
Saltzman waved a hand; a empty gesticulation. "Whatever it's called. What if he's from there?"
"Seriously, Sean. You think he's one of the infected escapees?"
"I'm just saying don't rule it out." Saltzman whipped a key from his back pocket, jabbing a finger on the fob button, unlocking the doors to the car.
"But if that's the case then-"
"Then we have a serious problem."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Your writing is $hit-hot...
Date: 01/04/2010 09:30 pm (UTC)Re: Your writing is $hit-hot...
Date: 02/04/2010 06:30 am (UTC)Glad you enjoyed it. Cheers for reading and for commenting XD
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Date: 01/04/2010 10:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 02/04/2010 06:38 am (UTC)Cheers for reading and commenting XD
no subject
Date: 01/04/2010 10:33 pm (UTC)I am really enjoying the story, and how much fun it is to see other characters!
no subject
Date: 02/04/2010 06:41 am (UTC)Cheers for reading and commenting XD
no subject
Date: 02/04/2010 12:47 am (UTC)1) I squeed when I saw an update. Never expected anything this soon.
2) taking a statement from a woman who looked like the closest living representation to William Shatner in a dress. --how do you think up such lines? I'm gonna be dreaming about Ms. Shatner tonight.
3) I did love your other description: he didn't look like a bastard love child of Droopy Dawg and Richard Nixon.
Loving this fic. Absolutely BrilloBob! (SpongeBob's more brilliant brother).
no subject
Date: 02/04/2010 06:35 am (UTC)Williams Shatner in a dress...IDEK where that came from. It just did, haha.
Gald to hear you're still enjoying it. Cheers for reading and commenting XD
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Date: 02/04/2010 05:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 02/04/2010 06:26 am (UTC)I'm not denying or affirming anything, hehe. Maybe the infection is an intermittent, unpredictable thing, so it might not necessarily occur when you expect it to *shrugs* Who knows.......
LOL! I love the fact your building theories though. XD
Thanks for reading. XD
no subject
Date: 02/04/2010 06:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 02/04/2010 06:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 02/04/2010 06:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 02/04/2010 06:49 am (UTC)(Although I'm not complaining :D)
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Date: 02/04/2010 07:00 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 02/04/2010 09:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 02/04/2010 03:46 pm (UTC)Glad you still enjoying it. Cheers for reading Hib!
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Date: 02/04/2010 03:21 pm (UTC)Love the characters you created here and all the little details to them (finger in ear and all, hehe)! I love it when characters pick their teeth or noses, or adjust their balls and the like - it's obnoxiously authentic and fascinating! XD
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Date: 02/04/2010 04:07 pm (UTC)Glad to hear you have enjoyed this all so far and that you like the OCs; they're a bitch to get right.
Cheers for reading and commenting.
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Date: 02/04/2010 08:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 03/04/2010 12:00 pm (UTC)Thanks for reading and commenting :D
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Date: 02/04/2010 11:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 03/04/2010 12:05 pm (UTC)I'll post the next part ASAP... :D
Cheers for reading and commenting. XD
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Date: 02/04/2010 11:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 04/04/2010 11:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 04/04/2010 12:24 pm (UTC)Cheers for reading and commenting XD