[ As soon as Oxford hears the slightest noise above him, he swiftly moves to return the gun to its resting place in his study, slipping through the murky darkness, carefully and silently depositing the gun in a drawer, which he locks. There is a momentary pause, while he listens to the purposeful shuffle of Cambridge's feet, where Oxford tries to regain his composure. Although he is weary and his eyes sting with a desire for tears and exhaustion, he loathes the very idea of going to bed, where he fears the images of his recent memories will be prevalent still, and the gruesome nightmares that have been plaguing of potential outcomes, potential tragedies still to come, are likely to return once again.
Part of him does not want to speak to Cambridge at the moment, feeling particularly inclined to simply make a dash out of the front door and go for a theraputic drive, but he knows that doing something like that would only serve to drive Cambridge to anger, and to be honest, he doesn't know if he could really handle driving in the wake of his excessive tiredness. He's full of stupid, reckless ideas nowadays, but he's doing what he can to silence them and let reason speak instead. He inhales and exhales deeply several times, preparing himself before he steps out again, slinking down the hallway and turning to look up the stairs.
He makes no move to close the distance between himself and Cambridge, instead choosing to lurk at the bottom of the stairs, rubbing an unshaven, bristly jaw with the awkward guilt of a man being scrutinised by someone who knows his mind has been in all the wrong places lately (which he is, and it has). His tone is half-heartedly comical. ]
no subject
Part of him does not want to speak to Cambridge at the moment, feeling particularly inclined to simply make a dash out of the front door and go for a theraputic drive, but he knows that doing something like that would only serve to drive Cambridge to anger, and to be honest, he doesn't know if he could really handle driving in the wake of his excessive tiredness. He's full of stupid, reckless ideas nowadays, but he's doing what he can to silence them and let reason speak instead. He inhales and exhales deeply several times, preparing himself before he steps out again, slinking down the hallway and turning to look up the stairs.
He makes no move to close the distance between himself and Cambridge, instead choosing to lurk at the bottom of the stairs, rubbing an unshaven, bristly jaw with the awkward guilt of a man being scrutinised by someone who knows his mind has been in all the wrong places lately (which he is, and it has). His tone is half-heartedly comical. ]
Someone appears to be up rather early.