Feb. 25th, 2004 02:56 pm
almost_russell: (Guitar)
[personal profile] almost_russell
Stepping from the bus, Russell couldn't quite believe it was less than a month since he had originally arrived in this place. Swinging his rucksack over his shoulder, he headed for the diner, looking forward to a cup of Martha's strongest coffee and a plate of whatever was cooking. He smiled at her as he took his seat in the window, and she came right over.

"Usual, honey?"

"Yeah Martha, thanks."

"Russell, what happened to your face?"

He had forgotten the fading yellow bruise on his left cheekbone, glad she couldn't see the one on his ribs which was considerably darker and still fairly painful.

"Nothing serious, just a slight disagreement with an old friend!"

Which was the truth.

Within five hours of arriving at Dan's, he and Jeff were tanked up. It only took a couple of snide remarks about Lesley, and Jeff was on his feet, fists bunched, insults flying. Dan had thrown them both out into the yard, and left them to it, too used to the old routine to be concerned. Insults were exchanged and fists flew, occasionally even landing a direct hit, but not often.

It had always proved to be a great way of working through any aggression there was between them on the road and after getting sufficiently drunk, it didn't even seem to hurt that much, usually. This time, Jeff had managed to get a few good digs at Russell, but it had still been Jeff that had left with a black eye.

Twenty minutes later, Dan pulled them apart, sat them down, and stuck a bottle of Jack between them. Half an hour after that, they were finishing a joint, and laughing together, swearing they wouldn't ever let a woman come between their friendship. Of course, that only lasted until Jeff sobered up the following morning, remembered what Russell had actually said about Lesley, and left, swearing never to speak to him again. Russell had felt guilty this time, because for once, it wasn't Jeff he was mad at.

Another couple of days hanging out at Dan's, and he had felt the need to come home. Home? He still wondered at the fact that this place was the only place he had felt like calling home in a long time.

Martha put a steaming mug of coffee down in front of him, and he sat with his hands around it, staring out of the window. He had avoided thinking about Beregond while he was away, but his thoughts had turned in that direction once he was on his way back.

Either his former friend had turned from nice guy, well, nice program, to total asshole in the space of a few hours, or the transfer had gone wrong. He plucked the disc in it's case from his rucksack, and tucked it into his shirt pocket. If he was right, Beregond was on the disc, and something else was walking around in his body.

Now, he just had to decide what to do about it.
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September 2004

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