Sunday 1.4 Boredom

[fireun.livejournal.com]

(OOC- so, Schu here. if i am reading the whole posting thingy right, i am following format. if i am not, please let me know so i dont keep mucking it up!)

Schuldich flicked television channels with the intensity of either a butterfly on amphetamines or someone who wasn’t really watching television to watch. It was noise. It was half of a distraction

Schuldich was trying to avoid mustering the energy to go and seek out the other half of a distraction. Preferably something that contained caffeine and was brought to him by someone entertaining.

Boredom was a terrible state of existence.

Maybe he could convince Crawford to invest in order out lattes. They would be all the rage.

The couch cushion he was lounging on had a lump. And that was the least of his current complaints.

It hadn’t been his idea to wake up in time to catch the kiddie shows that aired in that useless bit of time between breakfast and lunch. In a perfect world he would be asleep until his sloth pissed someone off. Then, having been woken up, he could muster all the self righteous indignation necessary to make a Sunday interesting.

His grand plans had been ruined by the histrionics of the barely teenaged wench across the street. Apparently everyone had to know how distressed she was that Big Blond and Handsome had decided to date Big Breasted and Slutty instead of her. Why couldn’t females rail against unkind fate at a decent hour?

The next person who walked through the living room was going to make him coffee. Only that, and not having to do it himself, would placate his lethargic ire.

Comments

[fieryredqueen.livejournal.com]

Farfarello hear Crawford giving Schu a mission order in the living room. He stuffed the last of his breakfast into his mouth, annoyed. He'd been sitting right at the table with the man, yet he'd taken it upon himself to get up, go into the living room and give Schuldig the mission order. Not that he didn't always do that, and it had never bothered Farf before, but lately--since he wasn't constantly consumed with rage and vengeance--he'd taken a lot more notice of his everyday environment.

He sighed, and got to his feet, brushing crumbs off his fingers and depositing his plate in the half-empty dishwasher. He stood a moment in thought, and decided he didn't want to just go along with this plan, even though it was only a cheesy little mission.

Slipping silently out of the kitchen and into the foyer, he stuck his feet in his boots and buckled them up. Then he grabbed a jacket and noiselessly opened the front door, exiting just as quietly. Then, he took off running. Hopefully he'd be able to get hopelessly lost before they noticed he'd gone. He wasn't as fast as Schuldig could be, but he was faster than most humans. Rosenkreuz' scientists had seen to that.

[lilymoon1.livejournal.com]

A niggling feeling, but nothing specific, sent Crawford back to the kitchen to check on Farfarello. He wanted to try and gauge the man's mental stability for the recon mission.

The kitchen was empty. Crawford went swiftly through every room. Farfarello was nowhere to be found, and although he strained his gift to the point of near blacking out, Crawford couldn't "see" a damned thing.