#tl writes

(closed for @tl-writes​) -- this is a bad idea, harley thought as he surveyed his bathroom, its floors copiously padded with towels and a cat meowing plaintively in his bathtub. “this is a bad idea,” he said out loud as he as he continued to allow the water to run and the suds to build up and the cat to keep existing in his life. “i need more soap.” he held the washcloth out for tate to add another helping. as he expected, the cat had stuck around and even seemed like a permanent addition. he had a feeling that his current outfit -- an oversized iron maiden shirt, a pair of his paint sweatpants, his hair headbanded back and bunched into a bun, and a surgical mask abandoned around his neck when it did nothing to keep him from sneezing -- was soon going to be a staple of his wardrobe. “tate, she keeps moving, and every time i pull her back, she looks like she’s going to maul me.”

( closed for @tl-writes​ ) — bare feet swinging mildly over the rocky outcrop that lifted the lighthouse from the beach, harley loaded in a pair of batteries into the flashlight and then clicked it on as part of the routine pre-exploration checkup. the beam cut through the night, illuminating a patch of the rough sea. nice. he hopped off from the rocks, letting his feet sink into cool, wet sand as he looked around for signs of tate. eventually he did spy someone just cresting the hill of goose rocks beach. “hey, over here!” he called with a wave of the flashlight, only belatedly remembering to hope that it was actually tate. 

( closed for @tl-writes​ ) — the sun was beginning to set somewhere behind the trees, and harley was still driving them home. they’d stayed out a little later than usual tonight (today?) -- harley had figured that with the incoming tornado weather, further adventuring was going to be postponed, so he wasn’t complaining. this just meant tate was out dozing off in the passenger’s seat, wrapped in all several of the blankets harley had started to bring out of necessity. at least, harley thought so. out of nowhere came tate’s urgent request to stop the car, sending harley into an impromptu panic. he footed the brake and sent the old truck’s wheels squealing to a stop along the side of the lonely stretch of road. “what?” he immediately turned to tate, gaze flitting urgently around the car. “what? is it a bug? where?”