![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
weary memories i can always see
Sep. 10th, 2013 10:30 amEven though there's an apartment waiting for him a few blocks down, secure and safe and sound, Sawyer never spends very long in the space. After months of living on an island with the open air constantly above and around him, an apartment feels too enclosed, traps him in a way that he only ever associates with danger these days, so he leaves as often as he can, sparing only a few hours each evening to recharge with fitful, restless sleep.
He avoids practically every one of them at first, the individuals who happened across him at the site of the plane crash, their eyes too knowing and tones too soft to be a coincidence. A new city isn't terribly much to take in, but trying to find the line between friend and enemy is too much of a task when Sawyer sometimes feels like he's never been a good enough judge of character in the first place. Eventually, however, the questions gnaw at him, unwilling to leave as he tosses and turns in his sheets, and unless he wants to gradually let himself drain of all energy, it needs to be addressed.
Which his why he shrugs on a jacket, stalks into the street. He's done some odd jobs here and there, but nothing requiring regular hours, so instead he walks by some of the major living establishments, trying to find her. Kara Thrace, callsign Starbuck.
Something about the way she had approached him felt safe.
With enough nosing around, he managed to lock on a likely residence, and having a free day on his hands, Sawyer sat himself down near the entrance of Chelsea Cloisters with a book in his hands to ward off any suspicion.
Hopefully she was around.
He avoids practically every one of them at first, the individuals who happened across him at the site of the plane crash, their eyes too knowing and tones too soft to be a coincidence. A new city isn't terribly much to take in, but trying to find the line between friend and enemy is too much of a task when Sawyer sometimes feels like he's never been a good enough judge of character in the first place. Eventually, however, the questions gnaw at him, unwilling to leave as he tosses and turns in his sheets, and unless he wants to gradually let himself drain of all energy, it needs to be addressed.
Which his why he shrugs on a jacket, stalks into the street. He's done some odd jobs here and there, but nothing requiring regular hours, so instead he walks by some of the major living establishments, trying to find her. Kara Thrace, callsign Starbuck.
Something about the way she had approached him felt safe.
With enough nosing around, he managed to lock on a likely residence, and having a free day on his hands, Sawyer sat himself down near the entrance of Chelsea Cloisters with a book in his hands to ward off any suspicion.
Hopefully she was around.