[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/Jq6TENl.png[/img]
[img]http://i.imgur.com/QXX7qX1.gif[/img]
Location: Best Exotic Hotel parking lot
Interacting with: His motorcycle

Sleep rarely came easily to Owen. He struggled to fall asleep, and struggled harder to stay asleep. Nightmares plagued his rest, vague memories of the people who had died on his final mission, their voices blaming him. It sucked. That was why he so highly valued sleep whenever he [i]did[/i] get a peaceful rest. It was rare to him, yes, but in its rarity it became a commodity. The laws of supply and demand.

Whenever he fell asleep on his hammock, he found he slept the best. His naps were the single best part of his day, even if they were only power naps lasting ten to thirty minutes. Sleep was perfect, delightful, loved. Peaceful. Floating in his hammock atop the hotel(he wasn’t even sure if it was allowed up there, but it was already set up, and he’d fight whoever tried to get him to remove it from the roof), Owen slept like a baby in short bursts. And he [i]loved[/i] it.

But last night had been one of the worst that he could remember, he hadn’t been able to get a lick of sleep. He’d given up halfway through the night and wandered out to the parking spaces, to his motorcycle. He’d tried to get it to start, but had given up after an hour. He wasn’t going anywhere today, despite that being his favorite thing to do when he had nights like this.

And so he found himself with his toolbox lying open beside him, his shirt(one of his favorites, a grey one with the words ‘Ali, Bomaye!’ on the front of it) covered in grease and sweat, discarded in the corner. His boombox played an old rock song quietly, though as he realized that people were waking up around the hotel, he turned it up. [color=0a9b7e]”It ain’t me, it ain’t me, I ain’t no fortunate one…”[/color] He picked up one of the lug nuts and screwed it back onto the bike, quickly wrenching it tight with one of the tools.

[color=0a9b7e]”Alright, ya piece of garbage. You’ve got one more shot before I toss you into the local burn pile, ya slum bitch.”[/color] He said, swinging his leg over the bike and pulling in the clutch. At first, he tried the starter button, but much to his dismay, it [i]still[/i] didn’t work. Of course, the button hadn’t worked in [i]months[/i]. [color=0a9b7e]”Stupid, fucking, thing…”[/color] He swore under his breath, flicking the kickstart out with his foot. One kick. The engine turned, but didn’t roar to life.

Owen sighed and reached beneath the bike, fiddling with the choke. [color=0a9b7e]”Come on, dammit.”[/color] He said, kicking it again. The engine started for a minute, but Owen didn’t yet let himself get excited, as the bike died again shortly after. [color=0a9b7e]”Seriously, let’s rock.”[/color] He grunted, kicking the bike again. This time, the bike exploded into life and Owen revved the throttle, grinning stupidly.

[color=0a9b7e]”Yes! Money. Good job, buddy, I never lost faith for a second,”[/color]” he said, patting the bike’s gas cap. Letting it run idle, he turned and swung his leg off of it, tossing his tools into the box and snapping it shut before he finally turned the bike off, killing the boombox as well. [color=0a9b7e]”Mission accomplished. Now, to get breakfast…”[/color] He muttered, heading into the hotel’s dining room as he wiped his face and hands off with a shop rag.

He tilted his head as he took in the scene of Murphy wearing the cereal bowl, and Tas’s face dripping with cornflakes and milk before shrugging.

Hakuna matata.[/center]