fuck_it: (felatio and rabbits!)
For all that Chris might complain to some people on the island that he's bored, he's not. Not really, anyway. There isn't fucking college to go or any place he's got to to be, and all he's got now is time. Time to explore or meet people or do whatever the fuck he wants. Being on the island means he's got time to think about all the things he never got to do back home, the things he won't get to do back home.

One such thing is something Chris has always wanted to do: he's always wanted to break a world record. Of course, he's not sure it even matters on the island, since it's in some other dimension or whatever, but to Chris, it does. He's found the book on the bookshelf, The Guinness Book of World Records and it's current enough that Chris feels like it's worth giving it a go.

He's on the beach now, in just swim pants and an oversized pair of sunglasses, preparing piles of sand. He's found a shovel in the compound-- not one of those fucking tiny shovels kids use when they're little, but a proper one-- and is more determined than he's been since he can remember.

Chris is going to build the world record biggest sand castle. Or, at least, the island's biggest sand castle. Either way, it's gonna be fucking mega.


Dec. 25th, 2010 07:37 pm
fuck_it: (Default)
So, Chris likes snow just as much as the next person. He'd fucking loved it when it first showed up, because they never get this much in Bristol, and whenever they do, it's not like this at all. It goes along with all the other weird shit he's heard happens on the island, though Chris couldn't help but think that this particular weird bit is fucking magical.

Still, he's reached the point where he's pretty sure he's had too much of a good thing, because he'd only really been on the island a few weeks before everything changed around. What he really wants to do is swim in the ocean or check out the waterfall, or look for tropical fish, but that's all pretty impossible when it's just cold like... all the fucking time.

Chris is on his way to the compound to get out of the previously mentioned cold, muttering to himself about how ridiculous it is for people to get angry about him smoking indoors when everybody's indoors these days, when he sees it.

There in the middle of the boardwalk, just like it's meant to be there is a moose. A fucking moose just sort of standing there, looking at him like he's the one who's out of place.

Chris stares back, not quite sure what to do or whether or not he should even move.

He's never going to get used to how bloody fucking mental this place can be.
fuck_it: (fantastically fucked)
By the time the party started dying down, and people had either decided they were going to stay where they were and sleep on Chris's floor or stumble back to their own home or to someone else's, Chris was fucking well off. He wasn't sure just how much he'd had to drink, and he'd definitely had at least two of those brilliant brownies that Effy'd brought along with her.

What Chris really needed, he'd decided, was some proper food. Like, food you could only get up at the compound. So, a group of them had decided to take the small train-- the one that had showed up with the snow had-- up to the compound kitchen. Only, that had been ages ago now and Chris wasn't entirely sure that they hadn't passed the compound already.

Fuck it. None of it really mattered, anyway. The night was still young.


fuck_it: (Default)Chris Miles

March 2015

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