[ His dad told him that sometimes he'd talk to his dead wife as a means of mourning. It sounds like a good way to make yourself crazy, to Luke, who still finds himself arriving at the party in part because he thinks that his dead sister would want him to. And she would point out something like it's probably a good idea to make sure anyone knows you exist besides that one lady and her dog, and someone on the forum who only knows you as 'bad.at.drawing'.
But he probably needs to cut that out.
Later. Because for right now, he happens to agree, so while the party is already in a state of swing, Luke arrives. He is dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and sneakers, and has brought his contribution to the party in the form of a loaf of sliced bread he'd defrosted last night, and a jar of peanut butter, and a jar of pickles.
He sets these down, maybe mutters a 'hey' or 'how you doing' to whoever glances his way, and keeps his head down. The alcohol is all expected and he doesn't so much as glance at is, picking up an off-brand bottle of soda and squinting at the label. ]
people watching;
[ Luke finds the furthest most chair along the waterfront, sits there, and nurses his soda.
And observes. He is perfectly content to do this, watching groups form and unform and reform. He notes, a little, who is drinking a lot and who is not, as a matter of habit. He does not try to flag the attention of anyone having a good time, but he might nod in a sympathetic manner if he sees someone a little like himself, off to the side.
Eventually, he watches the lake, and feels the sun off the back of his neck. ]
leaving early;
[ Eventually, it becomes enough sun, enough noise, enough people. Luke matter of factly plucks up a few of the untouched food items on the table, the kind no one's really going to crack into at a party, bundles them under his arm, and starts heading away for the forest. ]
luke crain. ota.
But he probably needs to cut that out.
Later. Because for right now, he happens to agree, so while the party is already in a state of swing, Luke arrives. He is dressed in jeans and a t-shirt and sneakers, and has brought his contribution to the party in the form of a loaf of sliced bread he'd defrosted last night, and a jar of peanut butter, and a jar of pickles.
He sets these down, maybe mutters a 'hey' or 'how you doing' to whoever glances his way, and keeps his head down. The alcohol is all expected and he doesn't so much as glance at is, picking up an off-brand bottle of soda and squinting at the label. ][ Luke finds the furthest most chair along the waterfront, sits there, and nurses his soda.
And observes. He is perfectly content to do this, watching groups form and unform and reform. He notes, a little, who is drinking a lot and who is not, as a matter of habit. He does not try to flag the attention of anyone having a good time, but he might nod in a sympathetic manner if he sees someone a little like himself, off to the side.
Eventually, he watches the lake, and feels the sun off the back of his neck. ][ Eventually, it becomes enough sun, enough noise, enough people. Luke matter of factly plucks up a few of the untouched food items on the table, the kind no one's really going to crack into at a party, bundles them under his arm, and starts heading away for the forest. ]