[He feels obligated to try and make the best out of a terrible situation, which is why he took to the festivities. This place was certainly...interesting. The smooth and steal surfaces are a bit too sterile for his taste, and the grass growing randomly throughout with a worrying lack of large fields is depressing. But...it's interesting? That's what he keeps telling himself. That there is a lot of things here he's never seen before and he can learn about them all instead of sitting in a corner crying.
Right now he's examining the food trucks, not seeming to be happy with much until he comes across the fruits and veggies. He eventually ends up with a bowl of mixed greens and crickets peppered throughout — pretty decent in size as well. He plucks one out and pops it into his mouth with no fuss. His brows raise, seeming pleased.]
—Oh hey, it's barbecued.
2. Network
[Bad username or site: Oliver @ Williams] WHERE'S THE PAPER?
[Forgive the caps, he's a bit flustered having spent the last hour or so trying to find some kind of journal or notebook. Hell, even a bunch of post it notes would do the trick. How is he supposed to write down his poetry without it?]
3. New abilities/safehouse
[Okay...he hasn't been here very long but the lack of reading material to hold is killing him. Naturally he found as many digital copies of literature as he could but it was so weird, and he needed that familiar feeling of holding a book and turning its pages. He can hear his eldest brother calling him a pretentious fart right now (and what he would give to hear it again) but he can't help it.
It's when he's sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea he let get too cold, spending far too much time contemplating how much he misses grabbing a pen or pencil and writing down an idea, that he just starts to spout words. He can't write them down but he's not going to let them sit in his head all day either. He needs a release. So when no one is around he plays around with some rhymes, alliteration, assonance, and a looot of couplets, until he's reciting poetry about his damn tea, and how it's warm (even though it's cold) and inviting (even if the flavor isn't very good).
That's when he notices the cup in his hands starts to warm up. He looks down with his brows furrowed.]
Uhhh, what?
4. Wildcard!
[Feel free to come up with literally any idea I didn't write a prompt for! PM this journal or hit me up at nicknacked]
Oliver Williams | oc
[He feels obligated to try and make the best out of a terrible situation, which is why he took to the festivities. This place was certainly...interesting. The smooth and steal surfaces are a bit too sterile for his taste, and the grass growing randomly throughout with a worrying lack of large fields is depressing. But...it's interesting? That's what he keeps telling himself. That there is a lot of things here he's never seen before and he can learn about them all instead of sitting in a corner crying.
Right now he's examining the food trucks, not seeming to be happy with much until he comes across the fruits and veggies. He eventually ends up with a bowl of mixed greens and crickets peppered throughout — pretty decent in size as well. He plucks one out and pops it into his mouth with no fuss. His brows raise, seeming pleased.]
—Oh hey, it's barbecued.
2. Network
[Bad username or site: Oliver @ Williams]
WHERE'S THE PAPER?
[Forgive the caps, he's a bit flustered having spent the last hour or so trying to find some kind of journal or notebook. Hell, even a bunch of post it notes would do the trick. How is he supposed to write down his poetry without it?]
3. New abilities/safehouse
[Okay...he hasn't been here very long but the lack of reading material to hold is killing him. Naturally he found as many digital copies of literature as he could but it was so weird, and he needed that familiar feeling of holding a book and turning its pages. He can hear his eldest brother calling him a pretentious fart right now (and what he would give to hear it again) but he can't help it.
It's when he's sitting in the kitchen with a cup of tea he let get too cold, spending far too much time contemplating how much he misses grabbing a pen or pencil and writing down an idea, that he just starts to spout words. He can't write them down but he's not going to let them sit in his head all day either. He needs a release. So when no one is around he plays around with some rhymes, alliteration, assonance, and a looot of couplets, until he's reciting poetry about his damn tea, and how it's warm (even though it's cold) and inviting (even if the flavor isn't very good).
That's when he notices the cup in his hands starts to warm up. He looks down with his brows furrowed.]
Uhhh, what?
4. Wildcard!
[Feel free to come up with literally any idea I didn't write a prompt for! PM this journal or hit me up at