James Ford (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sorrydontsuitme) wrote2009-02-12 05:45 pm
sorrydontsuitme) wrote2009-02-12 05:45 pm
(no subject)
Enough damn licking his wounds. So he got dealt a lousy hand: it ain't the first time and it won't be the last. There's only so much feelin' sorry for himself a man can do but damn, he ain't used to being on the receiving end of no con. Last time that happened to him, he wound up in Australia feeling like hell for killing the wrong guy. He knew he'd been played.
And you're pretty good, Sawyer. We're a lot better.
He believed it. He believed it at first, and he believed it the day after, and he believed it the day after that, too, but now... now he ain't so damn sure. All he knows is he's tired, and he doesn't get tired. Sure, they pumped him full of mida... zolam or whatever the hell it was back on the island, and then they gave him something in the hospital, but he's healthy as a damn horse. Stuff shouldn't affect him like that. Whether it's like him or not, it sure has been nice to just hide out in his room. He ain't never been accused of selflessness.
No new tabloids, no new news stories, nothin' new on the room service menu. He's shaved and showered and about as gussied up as he's gonna get, and he's been staring at the damn party invitation. For the past hour and a half he's been fighting with himself over picking up the phone and calling Freckles and he imagines the conversation will go like this: Freckles, remind me of one thing: no one at this place wants to kill me, do they? That's back on the island. There ain't no Others here. I got that right? And she'll roll her eyes and tell him no, James, what are you smoking? and that will be that when what he really wants to know is will she be goin' to this party and can he take her.
They been through a thing or two, him and Sassafras, and he still thinks they're two of a kind.
Does she? Hell if he knows. So he smokes, has himself a beer, smokes another cigarette, takes another shower. Ain't no amount of that can get the feel of the island off him.
And you're pretty good, Sawyer. We're a lot better.
He believed it. He believed it at first, and he believed it the day after, and he believed it the day after that, too, but now... now he ain't so damn sure. All he knows is he's tired, and he doesn't get tired. Sure, they pumped him full of mida... zolam or whatever the hell it was back on the island, and then they gave him something in the hospital, but he's healthy as a damn horse. Stuff shouldn't affect him like that. Whether it's like him or not, it sure has been nice to just hide out in his room. He ain't never been accused of selflessness.
No new tabloids, no new news stories, nothin' new on the room service menu. He's shaved and showered and about as gussied up as he's gonna get, and he's been staring at the damn party invitation. For the past hour and a half he's been fighting with himself over picking up the phone and calling Freckles and he imagines the conversation will go like this: Freckles, remind me of one thing: no one at this place wants to kill me, do they? That's back on the island. There ain't no Others here. I got that right? And she'll roll her eyes and tell him no, James, what are you smoking? and that will be that when what he really wants to know is will she be goin' to this party and can he take her.
They been through a thing or two, him and Sassafras, and he still thinks they're two of a kind.
Does she? Hell if he knows. So he smokes, has himself a beer, smokes another cigarette, takes another shower. Ain't no amount of that can get the feel of the island off him.