riotous_head: (Sword Tricks)
*Laertes has an unholy hatred of airports. he finds them altogether too crowded, too uncomfortable, designed more to usher people out than to give them any kind of ease when they stay. despite this avowed animosity, though, he's sitting on an uncomfortable plastic bench, watching the luggage carousel swirl around, waiting to hear his phone ring or to see a familiar flash of red hair*
riotous_head: (Many Years Gone)
*almost the instant Laertes gets home from work, the phone rings--he hangs up his keys and picks up the receiver, listening for a moment and then calling* Rey? Kate's on the phone--
riotous_head: (Bad Day)
*France, last year--Laertes is leaning against a wall, clutching his head because the lightspoundingheatsweatsound of the club is giving him a godawful headache. he lost sight of Julius an hour ago, and he's almost certain that Julius has lost sight of him by now. he is sick to death of bad French punk music and bad French clubwear and bad French pick-up lines.*

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riotous_head

July 2010

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