Fabricati Diem, PVNC

Sam lead Tommy down Morphic Street until they reached a non descript boarding house. He bowed galantly as he opened the door. "After you, my lord," he murmured.

I don't blame Dad for being depressed today. I mean, all the stories I've heard... yeah. It's just... hard, you know. I wish there was something I could do for him. Nineteen... Twenty years, and I still don't know how to comfort him.

Reply to this post, and I'll tell you one and/or a lot of reason[s] why I like/love/adore you. Then put this in your own journal, and spread the love.

I think I might try to find my own place. Not that I don't love Mum and Dad, but... I'm a sergeant. I have to be approachable. And Scoone Avenue... most of the coppers are a bit uncomfortable up there. Besides, I need to live like a real person for awhile. Not a duke.

All right. I can handle this. I'm perfectly fine. ... ... WHYTHEHELLAMIINTOMMY'SBODY??????? Dad's going to go spare. Absolutely Bursar.

Sam slips into his room, a sheepish look on his face. He sets a bag on his little desk. His hand reaches in and pulls out a small set of paints. A pack of paper soon joins it on the desk. He sits down in his chair and stares at them for a long while. He's still not quite sure why, exactly, he bought them. Yes, Tommy would like him to paint. But why should he care? He barely knows the man. Muse. Whatever. This isn't how he acts. He doesn't know himself anymore. It almost frightens him. With a sigh, he pulls out a sheet of paper and opens the paints. It's not like he has anything better to do on his day off. He'd just be hanging around the Watchhouse or the Bucket. Or the Nexus. Or with any number of attractive men... He shakes off that thought. Yes, he could. But... he wants to do this. He dumps the bag out, and a few brushes clatter onto the surface of the desk. He picks one at random, then sets his helmet just so and leans a rose he'd nicked from one of Mum's flower arrangements against it. Perfect. He makes a few hesitant brushstrokes, frowning in concentration. After a long while, he has a finished work that satisfies him. A much cruder effort than when Tommy was actually influencing him, but still, recognizable. He smiles in bemusement as he looks it over. Tommy would love it.

... Not those kinds of favors. I'll... er... take care of the dragons or something. Polish his armour. Er.

... I have got to take Dad off my friends list. Very bad images there.