#wyatt002

[sawyergraves]

Location: Thane Autoshop

@wyattnadir​

The shop didn't open for another hour but Sawyer had been steadily working away for at least two— as was his nature as one of the shop's resident insomniacs. He was almost always up before the sun, and rather than continue to toss and turn in bed and risk waking Remi (especially on her day off), he'd opted to go into work early like he usually did. Sawyer never minded it— it gave him a chance to tinker around with other projects or simply be alone with his own thoughts for a while. But as the others slowly started trickling in, he was quick to abandon whatever he was working on as soon as he spotted Wyatt. "Mornin', man," he murmured, reaching for the cup of coffee he'd set down on his workbench, "Just put a fresh pot on." Blowing out a long sigh, Sawyer raised his cup to his lips and took a seat, "How's the house huntin' goin'? Izzy tell ya which one ya like best yet?" He asked, cracking a wide grin because he figured Izzy was the one doing most of the hunting and planning.

[angelway]

Status: closed @wyattnadir​

Location: The Clubhouse

Is this what it would feel like to be baked alive? The thought crosses Angel’s mind as the late summer sun beams seemingly directly down onto her, almost as if she can pinpoint its very rays skirting against her skin. It’s nice, a little unbearable, but nice. A little sweaty, a little sleepy, she sits out in front of the clubhouse with her back slouched into the building’s exterior - eyes lazily shut. Her long legs are pulled to her chest, her arms dangling off of her knees with a burning cigarette hanging loosely between her fingers. Inhaling the thick, humid air, she sighs. This peaceful, unhurried nothingness she feels, she wishes she could feel this way forever. Simply existing as the world turns. Wouldn’t that be something? 

The blackness behind her lids darken, a frown pulling at her lips. The frown deepens when she opens her eyes to see it’s Wyatt who partially blocks the sun. So much for the peaceful nothingness. Instead, deeply rooted annoyance takes its place. “Can I fucking help you?” Angel asks, squinting up at him.