Tim follows him up the stairs and tries to ignore the feeling of something being off. The house feels unsettling sterile, like he’s visiting a museum. (It’s because he’s not used to skulking around in his own house, get a grip.)
He changes quickly. Clean underwear, then under armour tights for warmth. Jeans - there’s an entire troop of options, but Tim finds 501s. The ultimate nondescript pants, because everyone alive sees them everyday. Tank top, black t-shirt, navy henley. Gray hoodie. Canada goose coat - no, too nice. There’s plain black varsity jacket with black-and-white striped cuffs that won’t be as hard to move in. It has some quilting so he shouldn’t get cold.
Tim proves a speedy rummager. When he finds a navy backpack, good quality but not eye catching, Tim already knows where each type of clothing is. Almost no time to get few extra pairs of underwear and socks into it, another pair of 501s, couple extra shirts and that pretty much maxes out the bag. He doesn’t want to overfill it. Plump backpacks stick our, literally and figuratively.
A hanging organizer has accessories. A pair of gloves is split between two rogues in tan and black, and a grey toque goes in . He finds exactly two plain trucker caps, red and blue, buried underneath scarves, and puts the red one on automatically. A pair of black-rimmed glasses with non-prescription lens “for style” go on his face. As a final thought, he puts on a plain black belt.
“Hey. Check the small drawers and any trinket boxes for cash.” Tim is methodically doing that as he calls the instruction to Guardian. He pockets two twenties and and a Swiss Army knife.
New plan. He grabs his disgarded clothes and gets on the floor, sliding under the bed and cutting a six inch in the box spring. Shoves the clothes inside. (They would look in the hamper.)
He heads down the hall, tossing the blue cap to Guardian. “There’s a slit in the underside of my box spring that I hid my clothes in. They’ll already know about the house, no point in ditching the clothes in another location. I’m going to check the fridge for ice cream containers and plastic lettuce.”
no subject
He changes quickly. Clean underwear, then under armour tights for warmth. Jeans - there’s an entire troop of options, but Tim finds 501s. The ultimate nondescript pants, because everyone alive sees them everyday. Tank top, black t-shirt, navy henley. Gray hoodie. Canada goose coat - no, too nice. There’s plain black varsity jacket with black-and-white striped cuffs that won’t be as hard to move in. It has some quilting so he shouldn’t get cold.
Tim proves a speedy rummager. When he finds a navy backpack, good quality but not eye catching, Tim already knows where each type of clothing is. Almost no time to get few extra pairs of underwear and socks into it, another pair of 501s, couple extra shirts and that pretty much maxes out the bag. He doesn’t want to overfill it. Plump backpacks stick our, literally and figuratively.
A hanging organizer has accessories. A pair of gloves is split between two rogues in tan and black, and a grey toque goes in . He finds exactly two plain trucker caps, red and blue, buried underneath scarves, and puts the red one on automatically. A pair of black-rimmed glasses with non-prescription lens “for style” go on his face. As a final thought, he puts on a plain black belt.
“Hey. Check the small drawers and any trinket boxes for cash.” Tim is methodically doing that as he calls the instruction to Guardian. He pockets two twenties and and a Swiss Army knife.
New plan. He grabs his disgarded clothes and gets on the floor, sliding under the bed and cutting a six inch in the box spring. Shoves the clothes inside. (They would look in the hamper.)
He heads down the hall, tossing the blue cap to Guardian. “There’s a slit in the underside of my box spring that I hid my clothes in. They’ll already know about the house, no point in ditching the clothes in another location. I’m going to check the fridge for ice cream containers and plastic lettuce.”