[center][img]http://67.media.tumblr.com/a3521719e0f2a4c205ac9a9f3565bbd5/tumblr_inline_n2uqbv0jlQ1r1zvay.gif[/img][/center]
[hr][hr]

[b]"[color=ab2020]Boston![/color]"[/b] King cried from his spot on the floor, hands raising in the fakest sense of excitement ever uttered by anyone. There was no real reason to his exclamation, King just wanted to shout and keep his dry throat from crackling due to under use. A near hour of [i]wallowing[/i] wasn't good for anyone, even trained professionals like Richard King. Blinking the last waves of familiar, lung-clenching sickness from his mind, the blonde sat up and ran his fingers through his hair once, twice, three times in total. It curled like it was thrown wildly through a storm, and did nothing to make the hollows of his face any more lively. He was tired already, of the road and running, but the others would only scorn him for complaining. So, he moved up to an empty bench and settled on staring out the window, mopey, silent.

Washington was restless beyond the glass. Though the rain outside was noiseless and steady, and the sky rolled too slow to watch, King could tell. It hummed with [i]life[/i]; pine trees sang by as they swam passed on the high way and shrubs curled under water weight and insects and animals hunted beneath the canopy. Life burned through this state like a fire. Or like them as they fled. Quickly. King hummed a song he deemed fitting to the scenery, silently cursing the fact that he couldn't bring his guitar along for the trip, silently cursing the trip itself. Cursing cursing cursing.

[i]You'll find another guitar on the road.[/i]

His mind whispered to him, it's decision set obviously. No matter how much King moped about leaving and the danger and obtuseness ahead of them he knew that staying behind would only kill him. It was a life or death situation, and there was a part of King  that really, [i]really[/i] wanted to stay alive. He cursed that part of him too.

King allowed himself to mope just a few silent moments longer and then he too got restless. His blood boiled for freedom or, in this case, attention. The unadulterated kind that either lead to fingers tangled in his hair or a tongue coated in venom and insults. He was down for either. King shimmied his way passed Jess and Malcolm, lips pulled back into an emotionless grin for them, and he settled on leaning against Astrid's seat. It took some effort to crane his neck over the hippie-glossed seat, but he did with little complaint and just settled his chin into the groove of his sister's shoulder, staring down at her map with curious and dull eyes. It shimmered in her hands, too faint to point out, but enough to keep his eyes locked on the parchment.

[b]"[color=ab2020]Why don't we drive down to Cali?[/color]"[/b] He questioned just to fill the air, sniffing away a sneeze as dark hair tickled his nose, [b]"[color=ab2020]We could become beach hermits or something. Real fuckin' hippies to fit in with this lame-ass van. That would be pretty tight, huh, Az?[/color]"[/b] A cheeky grin turned her way, muffled again by her long hair, and then King turned it to Aiden who would be much too focused on the road to pay attention to the mocking gesture.