James Thornton (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jamesthorn) wrote2014-05-31 02:41 pm
jamesthorn) wrote2014-05-31 02:41 pm
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Trapped in Hell again aka James' couch (For Moira)
Hours are beginning to run together again. Sure it had been bad trapped down in hell without knowing how fast the hours and days were passing. But it was worse being back in the comfort of his cottage with the clock on the wall staring him in the face. Yes, he admits. His damn foot hurts and actually...
With a scowl, he reaches for the pill bottle sitting on the side table and swallows down a round of painkillers. His foot hurts, but he still hates this. He's twiddling his thumbs being stuck in his house, when he should be back at the station, getting caught up on his cases, tracking down whoever it was running rampage through the town. It wasn't just his own attack. Now there was a murderer on the lose. Seriously. Why else stick this damn walking boot on his leg, if he wasn't allowed to walk on it.
Dark magic shouldn't be allowed to continue without consequence. He knows others were doing their best, but James had a vested interest in this case. For himself and for his family. This wasn't a random attack. It was the curse. His family's curse.
"Fuck this." James tosses the remote aside for about the fifteenth time that day. Through the window, he sees the sun has set, and he's vaguely hungry for something to eat again. On the coffee table is the remainder of the feast June and Demetri had brought over from earlier, all the leftovers gone greasy and cold. Ever since they had left, James has been in a food and mind coma, ready to climb up the walls, scowling at the world.
With a scowl, he reaches for the pill bottle sitting on the side table and swallows down a round of painkillers. His foot hurts, but he still hates this. He's twiddling his thumbs being stuck in his house, when he should be back at the station, getting caught up on his cases, tracking down whoever it was running rampage through the town. It wasn't just his own attack. Now there was a murderer on the lose. Seriously. Why else stick this damn walking boot on his leg, if he wasn't allowed to walk on it.
Dark magic shouldn't be allowed to continue without consequence. He knows others were doing their best, but James had a vested interest in this case. For himself and for his family. This wasn't a random attack. It was the curse. His family's curse.
"Fuck this." James tosses the remote aside for about the fifteenth time that day. Through the window, he sees the sun has set, and he's vaguely hungry for something to eat again. On the coffee table is the remainder of the feast June and Demetri had brought over from earlier, all the leftovers gone greasy and cold. Ever since they had left, James has been in a food and mind coma, ready to climb up the walls, scowling at the world.