Gumboots (Josh)
Feb 2, 2016 10:54:24 GMT -5
Post by Dr. Sean Neville on Feb 2, 2016 10:54:24 GMT -5
((OOC: This occurs after Incredible confiscated edibles.))
Sean Neville had always been a Responsible Person (TM), dating back to his childhood as a pious and mild-mannered youth, extending through his time at Hammel as a student when he had devoted all of his energy to doing whatever Robert or any teacher asked of him so that he could graduate, and then through thirty-two years of medical practice and forty years of adulthood. He felt no resentment over being a Responsible Person (TM); rather, he regretted how often he alone held that mantle, even among his professional colleagues and his peer group, made of adults, many of whom were roughly the same age.
As a Responsible Person (TM), when confronted with an unexpected and deeply unsettling situation, he’d taken the responsible course of action. He had contacted Yvette via telepathy to apologize and tell her that he had suddenly taken ill and needed to return home (thankfully, as it was near the end of the day, it mattered little), then he had grabbed the rest of the brownies so he could dispose of them at home (because he didn’t want any tainted treats to fall back into student hands, and he didn’t want to risk accidental contamination with the food or water supply – even if others who saw him might accuse him of wanting to boggart the entire stash). Finally, he had marched – objectively, he had meandered – to James Campbell’s office, had handed him his car keys, and briefly explained that he couldn’t get behind the wheel of a vehicle but needed to get home now.
James knew that, Oracle of Delphi accusations aside, the telepath didn’t tend towards unnecessary drama or exaggeration. In fact, more often, Sean was accused of martyring himself instead of admitting to vulnerability to his friends and colleagues.
James drove him home. Sean apologized twice and handed him money for a cab to get back to the school, although the recruiter assured him that Chase would pick him up.
When Sean finally retreated inside, he changed out of his work clothes, fished out a stress ball, and then disappeared into the pantry to set himself up with snacks. He also made a telephone call.
By the time Josh returned home, there was no supper in the kitchen or the formal dining room. Instead, the telepath sat on the sofa in the den, surrounded by Chinese food takeout containers and bags of chips, watching reruns of M*A*S*H on MeTV. The smile on his lips was broad, far broader than reruns warranted, even reruns of a show that he had loved for longer than he had known his partner.
Upon hearing the other man come in, he turned glassy eyes on the younger man; his face was flushed and shiny with sweat. Likewise, his hair had grown matted. Smiling, he greeted, “Welcome home!”
Sean Neville had always been a Responsible Person (TM), dating back to his childhood as a pious and mild-mannered youth, extending through his time at Hammel as a student when he had devoted all of his energy to doing whatever Robert or any teacher asked of him so that he could graduate, and then through thirty-two years of medical practice and forty years of adulthood. He felt no resentment over being a Responsible Person (TM); rather, he regretted how often he alone held that mantle, even among his professional colleagues and his peer group, made of adults, many of whom were roughly the same age.
As a Responsible Person (TM), when confronted with an unexpected and deeply unsettling situation, he’d taken the responsible course of action. He had contacted Yvette via telepathy to apologize and tell her that he had suddenly taken ill and needed to return home (thankfully, as it was near the end of the day, it mattered little), then he had grabbed the rest of the brownies so he could dispose of them at home (because he didn’t want any tainted treats to fall back into student hands, and he didn’t want to risk accidental contamination with the food or water supply – even if others who saw him might accuse him of wanting to boggart the entire stash). Finally, he had marched – objectively, he had meandered – to James Campbell’s office, had handed him his car keys, and briefly explained that he couldn’t get behind the wheel of a vehicle but needed to get home now.
James knew that, Oracle of Delphi accusations aside, the telepath didn’t tend towards unnecessary drama or exaggeration. In fact, more often, Sean was accused of martyring himself instead of admitting to vulnerability to his friends and colleagues.
James drove him home. Sean apologized twice and handed him money for a cab to get back to the school, although the recruiter assured him that Chase would pick him up.
When Sean finally retreated inside, he changed out of his work clothes, fished out a stress ball, and then disappeared into the pantry to set himself up with snacks. He also made a telephone call.
By the time Josh returned home, there was no supper in the kitchen or the formal dining room. Instead, the telepath sat on the sofa in the den, surrounded by Chinese food takeout containers and bags of chips, watching reruns of M*A*S*H on MeTV. The smile on his lips was broad, far broader than reruns warranted, even reruns of a show that he had loved for longer than he had known his partner.
Upon hearing the other man come in, he turned glassy eyes on the younger man; his face was flushed and shiny with sweat. Likewise, his hair had grown matted. Smiling, he greeted, “Welcome home!”
