ˢʸⁿᵗʰᵉᵗᶦᶜ ᵃᵖᵖᵃʳᶦᵗᶦᵒⁿˢ

Landon Liboiron || Bored in New York 

↳ Landon Liboiron in “Burning Bodhi” trailer (2015) [½]

“ —– oh my gosh. ” she’s over by him in a heartbeat, reaching a finger out to poke him in the cheek. “ you’re really here. ”

“well, yeah. i think so.” he gives her a once over, still convinced he’s HALLUCINATING somehow. “but... christ, eden, how long’s it fucking been??”

      the soft, paled light, ( what little the clouds allowed. )        mocked charlie with their tiny streams through the        blinded window. he’d sleep with the sun directly toasting       him without hesitation now. && there’s a silent respect        for alaskans who deal with six months of utter darkness.       charlie was hardly handling overcast for two weeks –       it made him feel weak, that his morale was so rolled       by the weather ; && even weaker that he felt weak in       general. a VICIOUS ! cycle to endure.       charlie rolled onto his back, his spine cracking with the       movement. he hated the sounds of bones now – while       cracking his knuckles had once been mundane &&        irrelevant, the thought of it made him want to scream.       he was tired of listening to his body. the growl of his        stomach && the scream of his bones. it haunted him.       ❝ are you familiar with the concept breakfast in bed ;       because i would KILL ! for some beef jerky delivery. ❞       he doesn’t want to get up, && it’s obvious. his skin is       paled && the semi - baby face he’d once had was        evaporated by hunger. his cheekbones were visible       now ; && soon, they would be gaunt.❝ my whole.       entire. body. hurts – ❞ he’s sure cree feels no better.       nobody who’s survived this long could feel any better.       it wouldn’t stop him from complaining. ❝ we should find       wheel chairs. wheel ourselves around – it’s like bikes but       less exercise – ❞

      cree swallows the bile in his throat. he’s not hungry        anymore, but nonetheless attempts at a grin for the       other’s sake. he’s sure it looks nothing short of pained.       ❝ unless you can come up with a way to LIQUEFY       beef jerky -- !!   ❞

“three to four days is my estimate, but it’s really gonna depend on when i get a new transmission out here for you, because yours is shot.” it’s a shitty situation that the other is presented with, though shane’s tone remains unaffected and free of pity as his gaze slides away from the frustrated customer and back towards the vehicle. “the price depends on what you want to do, though. i can either get a refurbished one for somewhere around a grand, or a new one that’ll be a little under or over two grand, but that’s up to you. obviously the new one would be better and stand up against time easier, but if you’re looking for a cheap and easy fix NOW and not worried about later, then you should do the refurbished one.” car talk was easy; there’s practiced familiarity there, and involved only facts and figures that were steady in their state. they were problems he could handle easily — problems that were solvable to him, unlike the intangible ones that he brushed aside. “so unless you have someone who can pick you up and help you out until this is fixed, your best bet is to get a room at the bed and breakfast in town.” shane is already moving as he cleans up, tossing the advice over his shoulder as he begins the process of closing shop for the night. “it’s actually cheap, especially for being the only option within an eighty mile radius, give or take.”

              “well, goddamnit.” cree’s never one to worry about unforeseen consequences, as long as the HERE & NOW is sufficient, but this is a bit of an exception. he doesn’t want to shell out $1000 for it to break down a few months from now, but he doesn’t want to shell out $2000, well... ever. he crosses his arms, elbows resting on his knees as he weighs his options equally. either way, he’s fucked. he’s gotta come up with the money, first -- ( contrary to popular belief, his job pays SHIT ) and then he’s gotta talk himself up to parting with it in order to fix his piece-of-junk car. a tired sigh escapes slightly chapped lips and he looks up and over at the other, seemingly forlorn. “no, i don’t have anyone that can.” he doesn’t have much of anyone at ALL, nevermind someone who would drive god knows how many miles to bumfuckville, nowhere to pick him up. a feeling akin to panic begins to simmer in the pit of his stomach, but he breathes through it in an effort to reassure himself. there are worse situations to be in. “i’m staying local then, i guess.” he shrugs, noncommittal, as if to finalize his decision. “just get it fixed. do what you need to do and tell me how much it’s gonna cost.” well, OH, isn’t he just a mister bigshot?! no, not really. not at all, but he didn’t have much of a choice, given the situation. wasn’t like he could just live here in Podunktown -- he’s got Very Important Stuff to do. probably. “and if you could point me in the direction of that bed and breakfast. i guess. that would be cool.”

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