Topher Lydon
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Everything posted by Topher Lydon
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Will watched the clock. A pastime that was enjoyed by employees the world over. The last half-hour of his day was usually spent like that. He booked his interviews for the next day and wrote up the last of his daily performance reviews. Evaluations were always a lot of paperwork, but Scott demanded everything be in writing. Will was tired; he had rushed about his office juggling his own work as well as the "busy" work that Scott had saddled him with. And as the day drew to a close, he found that
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June 9th 2000 It was utter chaos; within just minutes Will knew what it must have been like to be a part of the Blitzkrieg, to suddenly turn around and find himself a victim of an invasion by a malicious occupying force that was intent on taking over utterly. That was how it felt for Will at that moment. When Jeff had said family, Will had assumed just his parents. Instead he now had brothers, a sister, and a pair of grandparents as well. All stuffed into Brody's small townhouse. There
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Thirty thousand feet above the Atlantic, and Will stared into the cup of coffee, the emotions subsiding from him. That sense of being overwhelmed, forcing him to react rather than act, keeping him off balance was fading as he stared into the small coffee cup labeled with the cheap charter companies logo. Cheap coffee, cheap flight, it was typical of the company he had worked for. Typical of the man he had worked for, the hell he had endured, and for what? He hadn't set out for that, graduat
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Andrew's rolling gait kept pace with his best friend, his hands in his pockets and a long, thoughtful expression drifting across his face. Jared was talking about nothing as usual; sports, cars, girls and Andrew enjoyed the fact that his old friend and teammate could just get lost in a conversation. He grinned as he caught what Jared was hinting at. "I can't afford to buy another mustang right now," He said simply. "What between school and everything else I can't afford to keep a car."
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Will found himself out on the balcony with Rafik and Jeff while Peter and the girls discussed the bridal arrangements. Andrew and Jared had made a run to the beer store which left the three men who remained in an uncomfortable silence as they stared across the road at the retirement home that sat opposite Brody's house. Both Will and Rafik realized what was to come. The age-old ritual that men performed just before one of them got married. It was considered the ultimate sacrifice of a friend, to
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"Don't go!" Andrew repeated slipping his hands into his battered leather jacket and affixing those hurt eyes on Will's face. Will stood stock still, one hand holding onto his tickets, the other his carry on bag. He stood there for an eternity, torn between what he knew was right, and what he felt was very wrong. Andrew's puzzled expression eased slightly seeing the distress Will was in. What ever had driven him to this action... this utterly insane choice, he was suffering for
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Days Earlier: Will was hot. He wasn't hot in the kind of way that made screaming girls beat down his door and faint when he looked at them. No, unfortunately for him he was hot because the air-conditioning in Brody's house had decided that afternoon it would meet oblivion. Typically it would decide that Saturday was the perfect day to commit mechanical suicide, and despite the errant landlord's claims to the contrary, the device refused to be resurrected no matter how many times W
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June 13th Mental illness, anxiety, stress. It causes confident people to crack. The pressure that doesn't stop, building as it does till finally it bursts. Grown men that were reduced to hollow shells of who they once were. A breakdown strikes a person when they are weakest, crushing them mercilessly under the weight of things they fail to explain, of things that tear out a soul. Will Carter was broken. So much for life. Open defiance seemed his only recourse after being ba
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Marriage, love and relationships. Will boards a plane bound for England and a new career, while Andrew and Brody endeavour to find out why. Can Will explain how he ended up so lost?
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Jonathan Harding was hauling a bale of hay across the yard, his boots squelching through the mud created by a sudden downpour. He looked up at the black sedan pulling into his driveway, and he drew up short, catching the distinctive government plates on the front fender. A military car. He watched as the British officer climbed out of the car, reaching back inside for his peaked cap that he set over his steel-grey hair, completely ignoring the rain that was failing steadily and soaking t
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They won. It had taken Clovis putting a puck away in the eighth minute of the second overtime. Battered, bloodied, but undefeated. The Storm were gathered in Union Station after the game, ready to take the gold back home. It wasn't quite like winning the Stanley Cup, but for most of the members of the team, that was as close as they were ever going to get. They were champions, they had preserved the dynasty, and there was no doubt to any of them who had led them to that victory.
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"I feel like a dork," Peter complained, as he stood with his arms outstretched in the middle of the tuxedo store, Will and Lisa standing off to one side giving their opinions of the selection the clerk brought out. "But it's a classic," Will said, coming forward to push Peter's arms down and set the tuxedo properly and adjusting the black bow tie. "Wow..." he murmured, realizing how incredible Peter looked in the tuxedo, his white-blond hair hanging perfectly straight framing his sapphir
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Will walked out of his office, slipping a pair of sunglasses on, and loosening the tie he had bargained to wear. The weather of that mid-June day was below seasonal, and in a country that really had only two seasons there was little separating oppressive heat from frigid cold. So he savoured those few scant weeks where it felt like spring. He crossed to his Jeep, opening the door and stepping up and in, pausing a moment to look across at his office building; the night shift were going on du
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"So..." West's mother said from the doorway to his bedroom. West was sitting in front of his computer, as usual labouring to get some studying done for his final exam. He looked up at her quizzically, "So?" "So..." his mother said, taking a glance to ensure her husband was nowhere in earshot, and West knew she was taking advantage of his absence to pry, "tell me about Peter." "Nothing to tell," West said, sitting upright in his chair and tapping away on his keyboard, slig
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West barely slept that night, laying on his back staring up at the ceiling most of the night until the faint blue light just before the dawn poked through his blinds, and he gave up the futile attempt. Getting out of bed he pulled on a striped rugby shirt and a pair of worn jeans. Padding through to the kitchen he found his father already up and flipping through a newspaper. "You're up early," Jonathan Harding said, looking up from his paper. "Trouble sleeping?" West yawn
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The auditorium was quiet save for the two of them talking. Matt sat perched on the edge of the stage, his feet dangling over the edge watching while Blake paced to and fro. The thin artist was agitated and trying to find the right way to say what he was trying to say. "... I just don't feel a connection, you know?" Blake was saying, swallowing and taking another circuit of the floor. "Uh-huh," Matt grinned. "Like, you don't listen to me," Blake continued, glancing up at M
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West stood a moment on the doorstep of the house, the tuxedo feeling heavy on his shoulders, as he nervously tried to steady his resolve. This was it, his one and only date with Peter, and he was scared to death. Behind him the engine of the limousine purred; his father had managed to talk his friend who worked for a hotel into getting the ‘company car' for the evening and chauffeur his son around on his big night. And West glanced behind him at the headlights in the driveway, steadying
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Will took a deep breath as he slipped his corduroy jacket on over the grey flannel shirt he was wearing, stopping a moment to add a scarf which he slipped under the rumpled jacket. Scooping up his keys he set off downstairs. There was the usual bustle in his kitchen, Lisa watching the news while preparing some breakfast. Will smiled to himself as he entered, making a beeline straight for the coffee pot. "It arrived," Lisa said, glancing past him towards where Peter was doing his
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Tony skated lazily up the road alongside Joey; foot in front of foot, he was barely pushing off, gliding with a grace on the pavement he would have on ice. It was supposed to have been the night that West would have come out with them. Tony was disappointed; the fledgling relationship had died far too quickly, but that was life. And despite the fact that it was over, it didn't stop him from feeling angry over what had happened to West. "Who did it?" he repeated, dropping off the curb to
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The good old hockey game is the best game you can name, and the best game you can name is the good ol' hockey game... West had been playing hockey since he was little. As a kid it had been his first, third and hundredth favourite thing in the world--bubble gum and wrestling had to factor in there somewhere... His best friends were either on his team or played hockey somewhere else. If he wasn't on the ice, he was playing street hockey at age eleven, stepping out of the way of car
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The week had been unremarkable; West had returned to a very sombre school, the attack still fresh on everyone's minds. The looks of sympathy he got bugged him; he wasn't an invalid, he wasn't broken. It had been a fight, he'd bled, they'd bled and now it was over. Brad had been expelled, the other participants suspended. West wasn't sure what that would do for Brad's academic chances--getting suspended in the last few weeks of school--but rightly, he found he didn't care. The friendship
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They were still standing too close together, Peter stealing kisses to hide the fact that he was blushing like a madman. He couldn't believe he was there, but every time he closed his eyes West would kiss him again to remind him it was real. West ran his tongue lightly over Peter's teeth, wriggling it between them eager to explore, as Peter relaxed and opened his mouth, letting him in. He stared into the warm grey eyes staring into his own, eyes filled with mirth and humour. "What
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West yawned as he woke up, groggily staring about him, feeling his stiff muscles. How long had he been asleep? He glanced down at the ball-capped head sleeping curled up against him, his head resting on West's chest. On the other side of the couch, Sammy was sitting up watching Saturday morning cartoons. She looked over at him as he stirred, smiling before she turned back to the television where some princess was discovering her prince. West yawned and scratched his head, gently lifting
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West laced up his skates, wrapping the tape around his socks to keep them in place, adjusting the padding he was wearing one final time. He was aware of his ribs burning angrily, reminding him that his suffering was only just beginning; it was going to be a very long game. He stood up, looking at his teammates; this was it, they were ready, and they had come through so much. They were an entire line short, their captain was injured, but they had still made it. The finals, and the other t
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They had made it through most of the nurse stations and security. Will had simply tightened his tie and walked with a determined purpose, carefully instructing Peter to keep his head down and to not look at anyone. Experience had taught Will that in order to not be questioned, you had to look like you belonged. Walk with a determined stride, like you are on your way to get somewhere. Don't stop, don't look lost. Whenever a security guard or a nurse looked at him, he would offer them a ti
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