Evan McCartney | 4 of Clubs (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bluntforces) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
houseofcards_rp2014-01-08 07:23 am
bluntforces) wrote in houseofcards_rp2014-01-08 07:23 am
[ota] you're gonna go far, kid
There are very few people, particularly in the Deck, who wouldn't describe Evan McCartney as 'an annoyingly happy camper.'
And he is happy. He's happy to be getting his degree sorted out. He's happy to be looking at jobs which will allow him to be productive--to actually use what bit of a brain he has properly, the way it's meant to be used. He's happy to be in love and waking up every morning next to the woman he's in love with. He's happy to run with the dogs and spend afternoons with his parents and run errands for his sister. He's even happy to get into fights with cousins who look down their noses and young idiots who need to get their heads out of a generation far too outdated to still be crafting culture.
He's happy. He's Evan McCartney.
But he's quiet these days. He's not entirely certain why. He's been singing less. Shouting less. Simply moderating his voice far better than he ever has, as if the concept of 'an indoor voice' has sunk in more than twenty years after being introduced. It sits funny in his shoulders.
So he does what he can. He gets up early to study; makes Riley breakfast and takes the dogs on a run. He goes to throw punches at bags until it's time to ice his shoulder and suck on his lip so the bleeding will stop. And he goes, ultimately, to lie on his back in the snowed-upon Green, because he's not entirely certain where to go when a body feels pensive.
Someone should teach him how to do 'pensive.'
And he is happy. He's happy to be getting his degree sorted out. He's happy to be looking at jobs which will allow him to be productive--to actually use what bit of a brain he has properly, the way it's meant to be used. He's happy to be in love and waking up every morning next to the woman he's in love with. He's happy to run with the dogs and spend afternoons with his parents and run errands for his sister. He's even happy to get into fights with cousins who look down their noses and young idiots who need to get their heads out of a generation far too outdated to still be crafting culture.
He's happy. He's Evan McCartney.
But he's quiet these days. He's not entirely certain why. He's been singing less. Shouting less. Simply moderating his voice far better than he ever has, as if the concept of 'an indoor voice' has sunk in more than twenty years after being introduced. It sits funny in his shoulders.
So he does what he can. He gets up early to study; makes Riley breakfast and takes the dogs on a run. He goes to throw punches at bags until it's time to ice his shoulder and suck on his lip so the bleeding will stop. And he goes, ultimately, to lie on his back in the snowed-upon Green, because he's not entirely certain where to go when a body feels pensive.
Someone should teach him how to do 'pensive.'
no subject
"What, cookies? 's a tough call, girly. Gotta consider that there's also cake in the world."
no subject
Having reached the door to the kitchen Jinx tugged open, she stood aside and gestured for him to go first.
Guests and all, you know.
no subject
What with ladies first and all, clearly. It doesn't matter, of course--he's absolutely sliding in first. There's cookies to be had.
no subject
A pretty, pretty lady~
To the pantry, good sir! Tally ho! A couple of skips to lead them in the right direction.
no subject
Cookies, though. Close second.
no subject
The best kind. Setting them down in front of him, she bustles off to make them both more hot chocolate.
no subject
"Y' don't mind sharing?"