Status: slow updates
Almost Alive
Down
Brendon puts the ad in the paper and is filing papers for Frank the next week when someone walks in.
“Hi, are you the man who put the ad in the paper?” the guy asks. He adds, “For the pocket watch?”
Brendon eyes the man. He has short brown hair and wide eyes to match, muscular arms that make up for overall appearance. He’s wearing the same hoodie Brendon recognizes as from when he stumbled with someone on the street. He vaguely looks like the guy that knocked into him.
“Oh!” Brendon smiles, and drops the papers to hold his hand out. “Yeah, yeah. I’m Brendon.”
The guy shakes Brendon’s hand. “I’m Rian.”
“Okay, so you’re here for the watch?” Brendon asks, standing up from his desk.
Rian shoves his hands in his pockets. He looks around, analyzing almost, and pauses before he answers. “Yeah, it’s…sort of a prized possession you can say.”
Brendon frowns, upset that he has to disappoint Rian. “Well, alright I have it, but not with me.”
Rian raises his eyebrows, and asks in a confused voice, “Oh?”
Brendon twiddles his thumbs, and explains, “Well no one came for it, and I was afraid to bring it to work everyday. I lose things easily, and forget things a lot. So between the two I just figured…anyway. I have lunch in a half hour and can bring it back, by three.”
The guy looks agitated, but says, “Alright. Fine.”
Brendon wants to apologize, but Rian slips out before he can say another word, so he settles for sighing into the empty space. He really needs to get his shit together. Between stumbling with coffee cups, building up his IOU’s with Jon, (purposely) forgetting the pocket-watch, falling behind on paperwork for Frank and really, really needing a haircut, Brendon’s head is spinning. He thinks he should make a list, a one with some easy tasks that he can cross off to feel accomplished, but he doesn’t get a chance to pull out a sheet of paper before someone else steps into the office.
This man has brown hair, bangs falling into fringe on his forehead and clipping over his eyes. Dark blue eye shadow is traced around hazel eyes, thickly rimmed with black kohl. A tight t-shirt and ripped jeans hug the guy’s thin frame. Brendon can make out tense shoulders and clenched fists.
The guy says, “I’m here for the pocket watch.” Brendon’s eyes must bug out because the man adds, “Look. It’s really important to me, and it’s really…”
Brendon asks, “What’s your name?” because he has nothing else to say.
And if Brendon thought his mind was racing before it can’t compare to what happens to the already jumbled mess when the stranger answers, “Ryan.”
“Hi, are you the man who put the ad in the paper?” the guy asks. He adds, “For the pocket watch?”
Brendon eyes the man. He has short brown hair and wide eyes to match, muscular arms that make up for overall appearance. He’s wearing the same hoodie Brendon recognizes as from when he stumbled with someone on the street. He vaguely looks like the guy that knocked into him.
“Oh!” Brendon smiles, and drops the papers to hold his hand out. “Yeah, yeah. I’m Brendon.”
The guy shakes Brendon’s hand. “I’m Rian.”
“Okay, so you’re here for the watch?” Brendon asks, standing up from his desk.
Rian shoves his hands in his pockets. He looks around, analyzing almost, and pauses before he answers. “Yeah, it’s…sort of a prized possession you can say.”
Brendon frowns, upset that he has to disappoint Rian. “Well, alright I have it, but not with me.”
Rian raises his eyebrows, and asks in a confused voice, “Oh?”
Brendon twiddles his thumbs, and explains, “Well no one came for it, and I was afraid to bring it to work everyday. I lose things easily, and forget things a lot. So between the two I just figured…anyway. I have lunch in a half hour and can bring it back, by three.”
The guy looks agitated, but says, “Alright. Fine.”
Brendon wants to apologize, but Rian slips out before he can say another word, so he settles for sighing into the empty space. He really needs to get his shit together. Between stumbling with coffee cups, building up his IOU’s with Jon, (purposely) forgetting the pocket-watch, falling behind on paperwork for Frank and really, really needing a haircut, Brendon’s head is spinning. He thinks he should make a list, a one with some easy tasks that he can cross off to feel accomplished, but he doesn’t get a chance to pull out a sheet of paper before someone else steps into the office.
This man has brown hair, bangs falling into fringe on his forehead and clipping over his eyes. Dark blue eye shadow is traced around hazel eyes, thickly rimmed with black kohl. A tight t-shirt and ripped jeans hug the guy’s thin frame. Brendon can make out tense shoulders and clenched fists.
The guy says, “I’m here for the pocket watch.” Brendon’s eyes must bug out because the man adds, “Look. It’s really important to me, and it’s really…”
Brendon asks, “What’s your name?” because he has nothing else to say.
And if Brendon thought his mind was racing before it can’t compare to what happens to the already jumbled mess when the stranger answers, “Ryan.”