( road trips are funny things; they can lead to anywhere, or nowhere, they can be endless or too short depending on the company or a lack thereof. they can find mischief, bring it around and turn it into something else, or they can be positively boring. henry is convinced that it's all in who you choose to bring with you, and this particular trip – within the confines of a dream machine, no less – has so far been the best idea any of them has ever had.
( then again, it might just go without saying that having finally garnered richard gansey's attention is the whole of what makes this worthwhile, and of course he's mentioned nearly as much aloud, but for the fact he's overfed on secrets, he would still rather keep a few of his own for himself. for now. )
henry has claimed the front seat of the dream-pig, for now, while blue is curled up in the backseat in what's supposed to be a nap before her next stretch as chauffeur. he's got his seat leaning as far back as it will go without getting in her way – because that's only polite, after all – with his feet up, crossed at the ankles, ridiculously expensive shoes hanging out the window as the mile marker signs pass them by in a blur. his sunglasses have slipped down his nose with this last glance at the gps app on his phone, and he pushes them up with the tip of a finger before thumbing back through their decided trajectory, tongue clicking in a soft, contemplative noise before he lets the phone drop to his chest with a flop of his hands into his lap. )
So, I've come to a conclusion, Your Highness. ( he shifts a little lower in his seat, the toe of one shoe tapping at the air to a rhythm that only he hears. ) There are no Waffle Houses this far north, and if I don't get something in me soon, I might die. ( a beat. ) Listen. Listen. You hear that? That's the sound of my stomach trying to eat itself in lieu of a waffle.
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you got it, gansey boy.
Date: 2016-06-22 02:30 am (UTC)( then again, it might just go without saying that having finally garnered richard gansey's attention is the whole of what makes this worthwhile, and of course he's mentioned nearly as much aloud, but for the fact he's overfed on secrets, he would still rather keep a few of his own for himself. for now. )
henry has claimed the front seat of the dream-pig, for now, while blue is curled up in the backseat in what's supposed to be a nap before her next stretch as chauffeur. he's got his seat leaning as far back as it will go without getting in her way – because that's only polite, after all – with his feet up, crossed at the ankles, ridiculously expensive shoes hanging out the window as the mile marker signs pass them by in a blur. his sunglasses have slipped down his nose with this last glance at the gps app on his phone, and he pushes them up with the tip of a finger before thumbing back through their decided trajectory, tongue clicking in a soft, contemplative noise before he lets the phone drop to his chest with a flop of his hands into his lap. )
So, I've come to a conclusion, Your Highness. ( he shifts a little lower in his seat, the toe of one shoe tapping at the air to a rhythm that only he hears. ) There are no Waffle Houses this far north, and if I don't get something in me soon, I might die. ( a beat. ) Listen. Listen. You hear that? That's the sound of my stomach trying to eat itself in lieu of a waffle.
( henry. for god's sake. )