[ Burch has been hogging the television in the main room all morning and afternoon. After many screams and fits thrown, his last hope game has come to an end. ]

NO! Goddamn you! No!

[ He falls to his knees dramatically, throwing his hands up towards the ceiling, as if begging whatever football gods will bother to hear his plea. His next ( Read more... )

[ The only way to get people to show up to anything is through offering them beer and snacks. Burch is a little short on beer, although he did manage to scrounge up whatever he could from the fridge and display them on the kitchen table. What he did manage to find, however, were a few boxes of donuts (of which he had already helped himself to a ( Read more... )

[ There's a very rugged-looking Montana sitting at the table in the kitchen. His beard is big enough to rival that of Grizzly Adams, a fact he would probably be proud to admit. He's been gone for nearly two months now, locked up in some room with only the provisions he packed along with him. The only reason he left the small, dark quarters is ( Read more... )

The options he had for escaping were getting slim. The next option was always just a bit crazier than the last, proof of his desperation, a fact he didn't mind admitting. Fuck, of course he wanted to get home. He felt like the only person in the building who actually cared about getting home, which didn't make any sense. When the rest of them ( Read more... )

[ There is the distinct smell of paint fumes wafting through a few of the halls in HQ. One of the halls has already been finished and now has a fresh coat of paint. Of course, this is one of the few abandoned halls that no one ever goes through, but it is important that this one was finished first ( Read more... )

|| It has been weeks since he's last seen Idaho. The first ten or so days were because he was in hiding. Now, he's been checking up on Helena daily to see if Idaho ever showed up.

She hadn't. And he knew why. ||

They finally did it, huh? || Not talking to anyone in particular, just yelling down the hallway, glaring at anyone who comes near ( Read more... )

|| His 12 hours are up. He emerges out of some random doorway, and, luckily, no one is around to notice him ( Read more... )

|| The face, the height, the voice, never being able to find his gun--they were getting to him. He realized that he was a lot more on edge than usual. He was spending more time locked up in a room that wasn't really his, than he did outside yelling at people and drinking his beer. Too much could go wrong out there. Too many people could figure ( Read more... )

|| November 8.

He can't stay away from his room. Not Surtsey's room, his room. It's the one piece of Montana he's allowed himself. He's only been there once, too afraid to be caught sifting through his old things to venture back too often. Now, though, he has to. It's his goddamn birthday and the fridge is out of beer ( Read more... )

|| Intentions are good: Surtsey doesn't care. He's not taking it well. Since he's not supposed to be Montana, he can't take his anger issues out on people to their faces. Instead, he's going around and smearing blood on doors, chopping bedroom doors to pieces and lighting stuff on fire. Sorry, every state that he considers "Midwest" and "East ( Read more... )