(no subject)
Jim was in a good mood.
In fact, he was in a ridiculously good mood. The week's earlier events seemed a distant memory in his head, replaced now by what had happened earlier in the morning. Things were changing in good ways and he was, above all else, happy. It was a happy he hadn't felt in a long time. He walked down the beach, humming slightly under his breath, kicking up a bit of sand as he went. Nothing could get him down, really.
Mentally, anyway.
As it turned out, walking on air did not mean he was exempted from tripping on things on the ground. One moment he was walking, the next his food caught on something half-buried in the sand. He didn't have time to catch himself - hadn't expected to trip, after all - and went face-first into the sand. Sitting up quickly, he sputtered out grains of sand and wiped it all from his eyes, turning to look at what tripped him. Who in their right mind would leave--an extremely...familiar looking messenger bag in the sand?
Jim stared at the bag as if he had seen a ghost. What the hell was it doing here? He hadn't come to the island with it, he knew that for sure. Slowly reaching over, he dragged it to him, eyeing it up and down. There was no doubt about it; this was his. How it got there was another question entirely.
Furrowing his brow, he opened it cautiously. For all he knew, something might pop out. Nothing did, though, and upon inspection he realized all the things in the bag were what he had had the day he had popped into this place. His gym clothes, his notebooks, and, more importantly...
"My iPOD," he said to himself, pulling it out with a rather gleeful look on his face. He had been carrying it that day, as well as the portable stereo sysem Ryan had let him borrow earlier in the morning. Upon inspection, he found it was fully functional with all the music he had when he left.
And here he thought the week couldn't get any better.
He hooked up the stereo system, found a halfway decent playlist, and let it start playing. Sitting back in the sand, he pulled out the bottle of Pepsi and the Cheetos that had also been present in his bag. His hand briefly rubbed at the small bruise on his neck before he opted to ignore it (and the question if it was noticable or not) and got to relaxing. He would see what else he had in the bag once he finished his food.
[OOC: Yep, this is an item post. Jim's music is currently blaring, so if you want to come check it out you're free to do so. Open to all and such.]
In fact, he was in a ridiculously good mood. The week's earlier events seemed a distant memory in his head, replaced now by what had happened earlier in the morning. Things were changing in good ways and he was, above all else, happy. It was a happy he hadn't felt in a long time. He walked down the beach, humming slightly under his breath, kicking up a bit of sand as he went. Nothing could get him down, really.
Mentally, anyway.
As it turned out, walking on air did not mean he was exempted from tripping on things on the ground. One moment he was walking, the next his food caught on something half-buried in the sand. He didn't have time to catch himself - hadn't expected to trip, after all - and went face-first into the sand. Sitting up quickly, he sputtered out grains of sand and wiped it all from his eyes, turning to look at what tripped him. Who in their right mind would leave--an extremely...familiar looking messenger bag in the sand?
Jim stared at the bag as if he had seen a ghost. What the hell was it doing here? He hadn't come to the island with it, he knew that for sure. Slowly reaching over, he dragged it to him, eyeing it up and down. There was no doubt about it; this was his. How it got there was another question entirely.
Furrowing his brow, he opened it cautiously. For all he knew, something might pop out. Nothing did, though, and upon inspection he realized all the things in the bag were what he had had the day he had popped into this place. His gym clothes, his notebooks, and, more importantly...
"My iPOD," he said to himself, pulling it out with a rather gleeful look on his face. He had been carrying it that day, as well as the portable stereo sysem Ryan had let him borrow earlier in the morning. Upon inspection, he found it was fully functional with all the music he had when he left.
And here he thought the week couldn't get any better.
He hooked up the stereo system, found a halfway decent playlist, and let it start playing. Sitting back in the sand, he pulled out the bottle of Pepsi and the Cheetos that had also been present in his bag. His hand briefly rubbed at the small bruise on his neck before he opted to ignore it (and the question if it was noticable or not) and got to relaxing. He would see what else he had in the bag once he finished his food.
[OOC: Yep, this is an item post. Jim's music is currently blaring, so if you want to come check it out you're free to do so. Open to all and such.]