Pointing and Yelling - aka, the idea that still won’t let me rest which we discussed.
@polkaknight feel free to ignore if you want l o l.
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Tired. Really tired. And sore. There were twenty-nine muscles that made up a person’s ‘core’ but just then he felt as though he’d discovered some previously unknown groups. His entire body felt stiff, but it had been an abdominals day, and Charity was not a sweet and gentle trainer.
Despite all the vitamins and supplements he took to make it easier on him, which now ranged across his counter and made him think of all the body builders he'd disliked in uni, Waldo thought he might like to go into a coma for awhile.
He was half asleep as he trudged from the computer room - a little look-over on the Paranet, to see if anything new was happening, before bed - and opened his refridgerator looking for the jug of milk.
Waldo was mid-gulp when the door rattled, and a key turned in the lock. He straightened. Now that just wasn’t... right. Who had keys to his place? Harry? Will and Georgia? Micheal? His mother? None of these would come in the middle of the night, though. Well, except maybe Harry.
Please don’t be Harry, I don’t want to fight monsters right now. I want to sleep.
All the same, he wiped off the milk moustache and edged towards the counter where the kitchen knives were in easy reach. At the very least, a butcher's cleaved to the torso would give him ample time to run for Fidelacchius.
The door swung in, and there in the light of the hallway was... himself. Himself, in his scrubs, and his denim jacket, standing right there and looking like he just got off shift, walking over his Threshold like it was nothing.
The sound that came out of own his mouth didn’t really resemble words as he stood at the kitchen counter, milk jug in one hand and the other frozen as he reached for the block. Waldo was rooted to the spot, unable to move from shock as he watched his double wander inside.
