[ Stepping in Luke's room is like (literally) stepping back in time. One of the fixtures of his memories had been this space. He couldn't put a name to everything he'd seen inside of it, and try as he might to describe the dazzlingly futuristic motif (and after several miserable attempts to draw it), some of the finer details had faded to obscurity. How it smelled, the weird tubing to nowhere, the weird way Luke decided to cram all of America's gifts to him in a jar. Now that he's back it feels as though everything is snapping back into their rightful places in his mind, sharper than ever before. The room is smaller than he remembered. Still just as dazzling though. He's admiring it so thoroughly it's like the first time he laid eyes on the pseudo-dorm room all over again.
Spotting the window, he's suddenly hit with the memory of their first kiss and how it ended with the most embarrassing reaction to an erection he has ever had. That's something he hasn't forgotten. The embarrassing things always manage to stick around, lurking just below the surface of consciousness waiting for the opportunity to jump back up and remind him just so he can feel embarrassed all over again. It's like mental herpes. ]
Hah! I remember that! [ He's still slowly exploring the room, touching every neon light in reach. ] Took me ages to figure out what I wanted to say. Sorting through feelings, makin' 'em tangible words, never been my strongest suit. And after all that I can't even remember what I'd said. I guess if it's a choice between remembering that or what your smile looked like, I'd choose the latter any day, but I put effort into that! After all-- oh, wait, here they are.
[ Once he spots the Frankenstein mishmash of crinkled paper and bloodied lace, his steps quicken in apparent eagerness to read it. As his eyes skim the smudged words, his excited demeanor sinks bit by bit into quiet thoughtfulness. The usual hum of energy he exhibits in his movements--all the exuberance and twitching and shuffling that's as hard to ignore as the din of cicadas in the fall--slows and trickles to a calm. He stares until a sort of wonder seeps into his expression.
Living so long, even the most intense and magnificent feelings tend to dull and gather dust once they're stored away. It just takes a fresh gaze to reignite them.
America's eyes skim over the word temporary several times before glancing to Luke. The sudden rush of emotions reminds him of the Northern Lights: so familiar that after a while it became visual white noise, but then the wonder strikes all over again and he feels the same amazement as the first time he saw them. He looks like he's gazing upon something impossible and pretty and way beyond his comprehension.
It's probably the sort of look that would freak out a long lost partner. Not surprisingly, America doesn't know this nor does he care. He keeps on gawking like a fucking weirdo.
Finally he snaps out of it with a few blinks and a sudden waft from the delicious-yet-questionable boxes. He goes right ahead and makes himself at home, flopping onto the bed and splaying himself out as he grabs for the food. Dirt and horse smell and probably some parasites are now burrowing into Luke's sheets along with the grimy cowboy. ]
Ah ha ha, dunno if that's good or not. I moved on and changed, just... hope it's in the ways that matter. Or maybe the ones that don't matter. I mean between us, the ones that wouldn't change us, I mean that's not... hmm.
[ He hums as he chews on the the end of a kebab, more contemplative than anxious. Then he reaches an acceptable conclusion and cocks a grin in Luke direction. ]
Guess if that's the case, I'd have to make ya fall in love with me all over again! Shouldn't be too hard. Same fella, same America, still Alfred, just further down that path [ gestures toward the valentine full of convoluted metaphors ] at a new intersection! Y'know what I mean? Gosh I hope, 'cause I barely know what the hell's comin' outta my mouth half the time!
[ He grins around a burnt piece of chicken. And yet he's probably not joking. ]
All I know is, this beats the fuck outta eating charred rattlesnake! [ Closet kebabs: not as gross as dinner snake. ]
action
Spotting the window, he's suddenly hit with the memory of their first kiss and how it ended with the most embarrassing reaction to an erection he has ever had. That's something he hasn't forgotten. The embarrassing things always manage to stick around, lurking just below the surface of consciousness waiting for the opportunity to jump back up and remind him just so he can feel embarrassed all over again. It's like mental herpes. ]
Hah! I remember that! [ He's still slowly exploring the room, touching every neon light in reach. ] Took me ages to figure out what I wanted to say. Sorting through feelings, makin' 'em tangible words, never been my strongest suit. And after all that I can't even remember what I'd said. I guess if it's a choice between remembering that or what your smile looked like, I'd choose the latter any day, but I put effort into that! After all-- oh, wait, here they are.
[ Once he spots the Frankenstein mishmash of crinkled paper and bloodied lace, his steps quicken in apparent eagerness to read it. As his eyes skim the smudged words, his excited demeanor sinks bit by bit into quiet thoughtfulness. The usual hum of energy he exhibits in his movements--all the exuberance and twitching and shuffling that's as hard to ignore as the din of cicadas in the fall--slows and trickles to a calm. He stares until a sort of wonder seeps into his expression.
Living so long, even the most intense and magnificent feelings tend to dull and gather dust once they're stored away. It just takes a fresh gaze to reignite them.
America's eyes skim over the word temporary several times before glancing to Luke. The sudden rush of emotions reminds him of the Northern Lights: so familiar that after a while it became visual white noise, but then the wonder strikes all over again and he feels the same amazement as the first time he saw them. He looks like he's gazing upon something impossible and pretty and way beyond his comprehension.
It's probably the sort of look that would freak out a long lost partner. Not surprisingly, America doesn't know this nor does he care. He keeps on gawking like a fucking weirdo.
Finally he snaps out of it with a few blinks and a sudden waft from the delicious-yet-questionable boxes. He goes right ahead and makes himself at home, flopping onto the bed and splaying himself out as he grabs for the food. Dirt and horse smell and probably some parasites are now burrowing into Luke's sheets along with the grimy cowboy. ]
Ah ha ha, dunno if that's good or not. I moved on and changed, just... hope it's in the ways that matter. Or maybe the ones that don't matter. I mean between us, the ones that wouldn't change us, I mean that's not... hmm.
[ He hums as he chews on the the end of a kebab, more contemplative than anxious. Then he reaches an acceptable conclusion and cocks a grin in Luke direction. ]
Guess if that's the case, I'd have to make ya fall in love with me all over again! Shouldn't be too hard. Same fella, same America, still Alfred, just further down that path [ gestures toward the valentine full of convoluted metaphors ] at a new intersection! Y'know what I mean? Gosh I hope, 'cause I barely know what the hell's comin' outta my mouth half the time!
[ He grins around a burnt piece of chicken. And yet he's probably not joking. ]
All I know is, this beats the fuck outta eating charred rattlesnake! [ Closet kebabs: not as gross as dinner snake. ]