| Walkabout |
[07 Oct 2005|10:36pm] |
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mood |
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restless |
] |
I wake up one morning abruptly unable to take the hanging around anymore. The Colonel has given his team some down-time while McKay and Beckett are flouncing around on that “totally safe” planet. I can’t take the numbing boredom of all this inaction anymore. And if I admit it, I’m starting to get a little spooky being around so many people after all these years.
At first, it was comforting, being with other people, knowing I could sleep in the same place two nights in a row and I wouldn’t bring hell down on innocents. Some parts of it are still good, others . . . dunno. I’ve been living my own life so long, it’s hard to get back in that soldier mindset, to do what the Colonel orders without questioning. I’m lucky Sheppard’s pretty tolerant of a certain amount of independent thinking among his team members. It’s hard to remember that I can’t think of just myself anymore, have to consider the wishes and needs of hundreds of other people. Sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe, can’t share the air with so many.
Ridiculous.
So I throw a few basics supplies in my pack, some food for a few days, water, weapons of course. And after I confirm with Sheppard that we’re on free time and tell Teyla what I’m planning, just in case, I head for the deserted parts of Atlantis. I think I’ll just walk around, exploring, seeing what I can see.
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| Bored |
[23 Aug 2005|10:22pm] |
Snick. Flip. Thwap.
Snick. Flip. Thwap.
Bored.
Snick. Flip. Thwap.
The knife goes in the air, comes back down. Is it accurate? Will I lose a finger this time? Or are my reflexes fast enough?
My left hand needs the training, so I keep my right on the table, waiting for the knife to descend. If it goes between my outstretched fingers, all is well. If it misses . . . I hope my right hand can move fast enough.
I sigh.
Bored.
Even if I miss, I’m positive the talented Dr. Beckett can patch me up in no time.
Where’s the fun in that?
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