NATE
Nate is distracted enough by his smoke, by his brooding stare off into the distance, that he doesn’t actually notice his line going slack at first, not until he goes to start reeling it in, and finds no resistance at all. Focuses again, and finds a loose end blowing in the wind. Looking down in abject confusion, it’s all too easy to see the dark clad figure in the surf, right in the path of his line. It’s all too easy to let his mind careen down a path of sabotage and slights, stoking him into a rage.
There are a number of things he could do, a much shorted list of what he should do, but what he does do borders on insanity. Without a thought, he launches himself over the end of the pier, landing a crouch. Parts of him pop audibly, though he doesn’t feel whatever it is. Nate is back on his feet in no time in no time, limping despite himself. A hand, a finger lifts, pointing out towards the offending body. ”Are you out of your fucking mind?!” The words tear out of him, audible over the crashing waves.
It isn’t until he’s a step or two closer that he recognizes the bedraggled face, and his own expression twists. ”Are you kidding? Really?”
There are a number of things he could do, a much shorted list of what he should do, but what he does do borders on insanity. Without a thought, he launches himself over the end of the pier, landing a crouch. Parts of him pop audibly, though he doesn’t feel whatever it is. Nate is back on his feet in no time in no time, limping despite himself. A hand, a finger lifts, pointing out towards the offending body. ”Are you out of your fucking mind?!” The words tear out of him, audible over the crashing waves.
It isn’t until he’s a step or two closer that he recognizes the bedraggled face, and his own expression twists. ”Are you kidding? Really?”
What's the drive in being alive if you don't know where you are?
What's the fun in getting drunk if you can’t take it too far?
What's the fun in getting drunk if you can’t take it too far?
