[color=#e0e0e0][center][hr][hr][img]http://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/b3RmLjgwLmQ4YTZhNi5TbUZ0WlhOdmJpQktiMjVsY3csLC4xAA,,/rio-glamour-personal-use.regular.png[/img][hr][hr][sup][b][color=a6d8d8]Location:[/color][/b] Morning Jog ⤃ Jones Estate ⤃ Sidewalk in Front of a House
[b][color=a6d8d8]Interactions:[/color][/b] His Feet, Like an Idiot[/sup]

[img]https://66.media.tumblr.com/f3bdb39aee999582b47cff7dcb84e552/tumblr_nju2idJid81ri06y7o1_500.gif[/img]

[sub][i]"I am now quite cured of seeking pleasure in society, be it country or town. [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YykjpeuMNEk][color=d8a6a6]A sensible man[/color][/url] ought to find sufficient company in himself."[/i][/sub]

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[sup]"[color=d8a6a6]Gloria Patri, et Filio, et Spiritui Sancto, Sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum. Amen.[/color]"[/sup][/center]

A small hum settled in the bottom of his throat, bouncing with the continued pound of his feet against the pavement. Mornings, from Sunday to Sunday, were sacred; they started the day and set the tone. And though James wavered in his ideals, teachings, thoughts, every morning was devoted to time spent in his too large backyard, on his parents' patio, quietly muttering a soft prayer. Faith fled him quite a long time ago, but routine felt more sacred than the church he'd stepped foot from.

[i]Ironic.[/i]

If asked, he could recite a number of prayers given and taught to him by the Catholic church, yet, despite being committed to memory, their meanings fled him. And not their basic meaning, the entirety in which is etched into every prayer so blatantly in its offering to God or Mary, or some hallowed saint. What they mean to him, not when he'd speak them, but when he truly listened to the words whispered between his lips. [i]To deaf ears,[/i] his guilt continued to remind him.

To measure a man through his faith alone seemed counterproductive. Quite simple to measure for a man devoted to doctrine in how many rules he followed that day or how many 'Hail Mary's' he didn't have to recite. Lose that perspective to gain a new one and faith seemed unimaginable - like measuring love. Usually, it's as simple as measuring sacrifice, and then countering it with a devotion to live. Tumultuous. Confusing.

James often bites his cheek after too much introspective thought. Philosophical questions of religion and faith stirring up emotions he'd rather leave bare and stripped of meaning. Leaving himself to a dull existence felt so desperately easier than succumbing to the vulnerabilities of forming opinions or attachments. Yet, reminders of better feelings pushed him back and forth between two existences.

Despite the sanctity he placed with the rising dawn and the twittering calls of birds rising with it, James almost always falls through a continuous loop of anxious thought. Noise pounded against bone and sinew, covering his mind in a blaring trill that distracted more than usual. The heaving breaths squeezing his chest and lungs burned a constant beat that ran through his veins and left in the blackened pavement he bore down on. It did nothing but add to the din, a constant thrumming that shot electricity behind the battering against his ribs. Time dilated in the pounding steps that escalated further and further into a high, piercing whine that drowned out the music sweeping through stark white earbuds. It stopped James in the midst of his run, veered him onto the sidewalk where he shook until his legs gave and he let himself fall against the cracked pavement.

His hands ripped the cords from his ears, let them drop onto his chest to hang from the clip that anchored them. Panic attack. He was - James breathed, heavy - he was having a panic attack in the middle of a soon to be busy morning. James blinked, let the sweat cool against his reddened, heated skin, and then he closed his eyes and breathed. After a moment of continuous focus, a constant, 'Inhale. 2. 3. 4. 5. Exhale. 2. 3. 4. 5,' James let his mind slowly wander. The few passages to the book he'd bought earlier - for the club - ran through his head, what he remembered and could recall. What he'd be having for breakfast. The inevitable sound of water running through a faucet, then the shower head, and the rustle of fabric - a nice sweater, maybe.

Another moment passed before James could finally stand, wipe a hand over his face and then gingerly on his shorts. His brows pinched and he took a quick glance at his surroundings until his eyes fell on a floral sundress, wrinkled in a way that matched the taught, aged skin of the woman wearing it. James coughed, gave a nervous wave of his hand, a smile, and a quick, "[color=d8a6a6]Hello! N-nice morning,[/color]" before regaining composure and restarting his jog with a sprint - best to leave immediately.

Sweeping through the neighborhood, James took his usual turn down his parents' long driveway and went about a dull, monotonous routine, until he reemerged an hour later with floppy, still wet hair, and burnt toast crumbs clinging to the corner of his mouth. James swiped at them one last time before setting a slow pace toward his mailbox. The usual had been stuffed inside that morning: things he needed to take care of, something he'd rather not pay attention to, and an invitation to the art auction which he felt he should attend, yet didn't quite have the yearning to. He frowned and immediately tossed everything to the wayside the moment he stepped back into his home.

"[color=d8a6a6]Hmm,[/color]" James hummed, staring down at the marbled counter until his eyes caught the gold corner of the card he'd tossed. A thought occurred, only momentarily before it passed. It continued that way throughout the morning, even through to gathering some of his things and making a round to the Whistle Shop for a cup of coffee and a tiny muffin to snack on while he lounged. Even if following a healthy breakfast and morning run with caffeine and pastries seemed counterproductive. At least the walk to and from would count for something. Unwittingly, though, he'd ordered two in his complete lack of attention, paid for it and walked away all in the span of a few minutes. It made no sense, but regardless of the misstep, his diet (which he often forwent) wouldn't allow the extra calories. One would have to go to waste.

"[color=d8a6a6]Mmm, or...[/color]" he thought aloud, his feet carrying him through the morning blazed neighborhood. A sigh interrupted, and James stopped his trek almost completely. His walk was leading him almost directly to Hadrian's home, someone he'd become... friends wasn't the right word? James scratched his head, perplexed at the thought of having practically only one friend in the entire community. He frowned at the implication, but couldn't think of anything to refute it. Of course, that wasn't bad - at least he knew and talked to [i]somebody[/i]. But, the idea that he did it constantly made him rethink his current plans. Plans to which he had no idea about until now, stock still in the middle of the sidewalk with a brown baggie in hand, with coffee steaming in the other, and the most perplexed look of anguish twisting his expression.

James opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then promptly frowned at his feet in complete consternation.[/color]