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MHA #8, Wednesday morning
Feb. 10th, 2021 09:25 amStark's apartment was, as a general rule, rather empty. He didn't have a lot of belongings and what he did have was neatly put away. As a result he was very surprised to trip over luggage when waking up Wednesday morning.
"What in the…" His voice trailed off as he read the side of the suitcase that had led to his being on the floor rather than upright and frowned deeply. " 'Survivor's Guilt?' Why would anyone want to carry that?" He shook his head, got up, and turned to keep walking out of the room only to be met by more baggage, labeled in a variety of languages.
"Oh, frell."
The cases were unmoved. Particularly, he thought, the ones with Scarran lettering about slaves.
"... No," he told the bags, as if that would help. "We're not. I'm not. Just no." The baggage, unsurprisingly, did not listen. Not even the ones with labels which, one would think, would have indicated an eagerness to please.
Outside of the bedroom was no better. A pair of matching cases in a brilliant shade of blue, blocked his path. One labeled She Died and the other She Left. He pushed them to the side, wincing as he did so.
"Should have stayed in bed," he muttered as he walked into the kitchen to make tea. "Just ignore it. Might go away." A duffel bag on the counter labeled Avoidance quietly disagreed.
The couch was nearly entirely taken up by a trunk with a very large number scrawled across it. Stark just sighed and sat beside it with his mug of tea.
[TBH he probably ought to be crushed flat beneath his emotional baggage. Could be open, though he'll be at the bar for the evening as usual as well. With slightly less baggage, maybe?]
"What in the…" His voice trailed off as he read the side of the suitcase that had led to his being on the floor rather than upright and frowned deeply. " 'Survivor's Guilt?' Why would anyone want to carry that?" He shook his head, got up, and turned to keep walking out of the room only to be met by more baggage, labeled in a variety of languages.
"Oh, frell."
The cases were unmoved. Particularly, he thought, the ones with Scarran lettering about slaves.
"... No," he told the bags, as if that would help. "We're not. I'm not. Just no." The baggage, unsurprisingly, did not listen. Not even the ones with labels which, one would think, would have indicated an eagerness to please.
Outside of the bedroom was no better. A pair of matching cases in a brilliant shade of blue, blocked his path. One labeled She Died and the other She Left. He pushed them to the side, wincing as he did so.
"Should have stayed in bed," he muttered as he walked into the kitchen to make tea. "Just ignore it. Might go away." A duffel bag on the counter labeled Avoidance quietly disagreed.
The couch was nearly entirely taken up by a trunk with a very large number scrawled across it. Stark just sighed and sat beside it with his mug of tea.
[TBH he probably ought to be crushed flat beneath his emotional baggage. Could be open, though he'll be at the bar for the evening as usual as well. With slightly less baggage, maybe?]