Logan Echolls (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
obligatoryass) wrote2006-01-20 04:36 pm
obligatoryass) wrote2006-01-20 04:36 pm
Home for the holidays (backdated to Dec. 23)
It doesn't make any actual sense. He has no love of his hometown, no actual longing for any part of it, except perhaps the Pacific Ocean. He hates his life, his father, his friends. There just doesn't seem to be much point to any of it. Logan's fine with a pointless existence, but it has to be enjoyable, and currently, the good life is completely out of reach.
A murder charge doesn't exactly aid one's fun factor, and his senior year...well. All the ways he's imagined it being the years - sometimes with Duncan, sometimes with Lilly, less often alone - somehow, being on trial for murder never factored into it.
To be fair, neither did pining after Veronica Mars. Most of the time, he'd never admit that's what he's doing - he'd scoff, pull out that handy bravado that is never far from the surface - but moments like this, lying on his back in a tiny room at the end of the universe two days before Christmas, why bother lying? Especially when you haven't left said room since the Hangover from Hell following the Christmas party where you spilled a secret you know you should have kept.
Logan groans, rolls over and buries his face in the pillow before deciding that a drink would do him good - alcoholic, preferably, but if no one's around to cadge one out of, something warm and sugary will do. He stands up and leaves the room, expecting to see the hallway and stairs going downstairs, but that would be expecting too much.
Instead, he sees the den in the Neptune Grand, Duncan and Veronica asleep on the couch. Logan winces, closes the door. Opens it again.
The scene hasn't changed.
Resigned, he walks into the room as quietly as possible. Neither wakes, though Veronica stirs slightly. A stray lock of hair falls over her face and Logan resists the urge to brush it away. Now's not the time. Never is more likely.
Logan closes the door to the Restaurant at the End of the Universe and opens it again. The hallway of the Neptune Grand stretches before him, and he slips out before the sleepers wake up.
Merry Fucking Christmas.
A murder charge doesn't exactly aid one's fun factor, and his senior year...well. All the ways he's imagined it being the years - sometimes with Duncan, sometimes with Lilly, less often alone - somehow, being on trial for murder never factored into it.
To be fair, neither did pining after Veronica Mars. Most of the time, he'd never admit that's what he's doing - he'd scoff, pull out that handy bravado that is never far from the surface - but moments like this, lying on his back in a tiny room at the end of the universe two days before Christmas, why bother lying? Especially when you haven't left said room since the Hangover from Hell following the Christmas party where you spilled a secret you know you should have kept.
Logan groans, rolls over and buries his face in the pillow before deciding that a drink would do him good - alcoholic, preferably, but if no one's around to cadge one out of, something warm and sugary will do. He stands up and leaves the room, expecting to see the hallway and stairs going downstairs, but that would be expecting too much.
Instead, he sees the den in the Neptune Grand, Duncan and Veronica asleep on the couch. Logan winces, closes the door. Opens it again.
The scene hasn't changed.
Resigned, he walks into the room as quietly as possible. Neither wakes, though Veronica stirs slightly. A stray lock of hair falls over her face and Logan resists the urge to brush it away. Now's not the time. Never is more likely.
Logan closes the door to the Restaurant at the End of the Universe and opens it again. The hallway of the Neptune Grand stretches before him, and he slips out before the sleepers wake up.
Merry Fucking Christmas.