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He poked the ray gun in front of him, then drew his finger back instinctively as it let out a small spurt of electricity. Ouch. He pulled his glove off and stuck his slightly-burnt finger in his mouth, then let it fall as the pain diminished.
He was alone in the lab that night. Again.
On the good days, the ones where he woke up with lots of ideas and had had enough energy drinks, he'd spend his time at his workbench prodding at failed inventions and fantasizing about ruling the world with Penny by his side. Sometimes he'd go out into the living room and surf the internet. Maybe update his blog if he felt like it, even go for a guy's-night-out with Moist.
Today was not one of those days. Today Moist was off doing... moist... things; today was one of the days he'd sit at his workbench for hours on end, holding staring contests with his partially-assembled Freeze Ray. Today was not a laundry day, and today, his blog had no new posts and his email inbox remained empty, despite him checking it every fifteen minutes.
Today, he just felt off.
He was a loner, an introvert, or so he'd been labeled by peers and adults alike when he was younger. He'd spent a great deal of his time reading, or playing around with the broken toaster, or wandering the streets of his neighborhood, lost in thought. Eventually, most people learned to leave him alone. He liked it that way, of course.
Most of the time.
He was rarely jealous of Captain Hammer, and he wasn't going to admit to any feelings of the sort, but there were moments when he wistfully longed for the attention of the people, for someone--anyone--to acknowledge what he was doing. To remind him why he was sitting alone under a flickering florescent light at four in the morning among the wreckage of his inventions, tired of imagining the could-bes and the what-ifs.
But he wasn't going to get that today, obviously.
So he settled for propping his head up on his hands and looking at the shadows of his ray guns and mad-science doodads until the buzzing light eventually flickered itself out, and he was alone in the darkness.
He was alone in the lab that night. Again.
On the good days, the ones where he woke up with lots of ideas and had had enough energy drinks, he'd spend his time at his workbench prodding at failed inventions and fantasizing about ruling the world with Penny by his side. Sometimes he'd go out into the living room and surf the internet. Maybe update his blog if he felt like it, even go for a guy's-night-out with Moist.
Today was not one of those days. Today Moist was off doing... moist... things; today was one of the days he'd sit at his workbench for hours on end, holding staring contests with his partially-assembled Freeze Ray. Today was not a laundry day, and today, his blog had no new posts and his email inbox remained empty, despite him checking it every fifteen minutes.
Today, he just felt off.
He was a loner, an introvert, or so he'd been labeled by peers and adults alike when he was younger. He'd spent a great deal of his time reading, or playing around with the broken toaster, or wandering the streets of his neighborhood, lost in thought. Eventually, most people learned to leave him alone. He liked it that way, of course.
Most of the time.
He was rarely jealous of Captain Hammer, and he wasn't going to admit to any feelings of the sort, but there were moments when he wistfully longed for the attention of the people, for someone--anyone--to acknowledge what he was doing. To remind him why he was sitting alone under a flickering florescent light at four in the morning among the wreckage of his inventions, tired of imagining the could-bes and the what-ifs.
But he wasn't going to get that today, obviously.
So he settled for propping his head up on his hands and looking at the shadows of his ray guns and mad-science doodads until the buzzing light eventually flickered itself out, and he was alone in the darkness.
I don't own Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog or anything related.
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