[Altruism]

[saltpeppered.livejournal.com]

[Dave is making his way through the lobby of the first floor, as it is still the place he returns to, hoping that he can find a way out and back to his time, but as always this is not the case. He's a little overheated so he's wandering around in a t-shirt and shorts, barefoot. His feet are silent against the tile since he's so used to nearly a lifetime of sneaking.]

[He's got this irritating pain in the pit of his stomach that refuses to go away. It's making living more difficult that it already is. Maybe he's ill...he's been abusing his body so much lately, he honestly can't tell. It could be a sickness or just the pain of sobriety. Only a proper physician could tell.  Regardless, he's out and about and looking for something to do. He's smart enough, for once, to not look for entertainment in random rooms so he's keeping to the lobbies and halls.]

[As he wanders aimlessly, he fiddles with his dog tags. He thinks that maybe he should trade one with fault_is_mine sometime. He also wonders if he should check the closets for his friend. It's no fun dressing himself.]

Comments

[smellslikesssss.livejournal.com]

[Plisken searches through his outfit, before pulling out a razor.]

Here, man.

[saltpeppered.livejournal.com]

Thanks, but no thanks. I got my own back home...

[smellslikesssss.livejournal.com]

Alright then.

[And he tucks it back in for safe keeping.]

I suggest you'd use your's though. At least trim up a little. You're growing a beard, here-

[He pauses.]

-But, of course, you might be trying to do that, and if you are, sorry I'm intruding.

[No, he's not actually sorry.]

[saltpeppered.livejournal.com]

........

[He just stares at him for a moment before shaking his head.]

[smellslikesssss.livejournal.com]

What?

[saltpeppered.livejournal.com]

No. No I am not trying to grow a beard.

[smellslikesssss.livejournal.com]

Oh. Okay then.

[saltpeppered.livejournal.com]

[Snake is fuzzy in Snake's Plisken's general direction.]