Welcome to Gaia! ::

Sid could deal with planes just fine, it was helicopters that drove all rational thought out of his mind. Planes were okay, planes were safe, there were many very comforting statisics on how unlikely it would be that your plane would go down. Helicopters, from what he'd heard from the news, burst into flames or just quit working midair all the damn time.

He didn't think much on where he was going, or who was flying. The reason- at least as far as he knew- was something the terror couldn't quite overshadow. His mangled knee wouldn't be throbbing like it was if he hadn't insisted on running to make those connections... as much as he could ever run with a cane and a bum leg.

So his thoughts, as he kept his eyes on his lap and away from the window, where focused on silently willing his knee to quit aching and the helicopter to make it to the island in one place. Only one problem was going to go away when they landed, but it kept him occupied for the flight.

But that was why he was there. Physical therapy and the delusion that everything could be fixed.

Relief was a sort of intoxication in its own right, at least to him. But the rush that came when the helicopter touched ground left far too quickly, making him long for a stiff drink or a strong painkiller or something.

The step down from the helicopter was enough to give him another jolt, but it was worse to him that he couldn't hit the wince that followed. He wouldn't go so far as to bend down and kiss the ground... because that was silly, and besides that he'd have a hell of a time getting back to his feet afterwards. Mentally cursing himself as he adjusted his grip on his cane, Sid made his way toward the waiting jeep. He didn't think that his agitation might show through in the way he jabbed the cane on the ground as he walked, much less the set of his face.

He slowed once he approached the jeep, giving him a little more time to take in the waiting man's attire.

"All of the sudden I feel underdressed," he said once he was close enough. It sort of counted as a greeting.

He glanced back with Sabin's offer, and there were his things, taunting him. The realization of how unlikely it would be for him to manage hit him like a slap from an unreceptive lady. "Yeah," he said, looking defeated. "Alright, sure. Thanks."

It wasn't age, he told himself, it was the sad result of getting your leg dragged under a motorcycle for so many feet. He forgot the exact distance. Fifty seemed like a reasonable number, maybe even a hundred, or a hundred and fifty... something to file away for future explanations.

He climbed in, cane first, and laid it across his lap once he'd shut the door behind him. The mere mention of a physical was enough to make him wince again. "I'd rather just skip the physical if it's just the same," he said. A few shots he could deal with.

His first impulse was to deny it, but that never worked. He leaned a little to the left to try and avoid a frond. He glanced back at it as he said, "One book don't count for much."

The statement was contradicted by all the acclaim, the signings, the college tours, the inclusion in certain cirriculums. But that was years ago. His star had fallen and crash landed in a crappy apartment in Freemont. No telling how high his bills had piled since he was in the hospital.

He sighed as he looked back to the road ahead. "I don't suppose you read it," he said, trying to preempt what he assumed always came next.

"Not so much anymore," he said. Bored with the scenery in less than a minute, he turned his attention to the words painted along the cane. Some already needed touching up.

"No matter how many editions they print, no matter how much the redo the cover, the picture inside's still from '79." His tone was not so much regretful as generally distant. His knee was still nagging him, but even without it he could never quite recall how he'd looked back then.

He shook his head and transferred his sunglasses down from his head to their proper place on his nose. "So what exactly is this gonna involve, anyway?"

"Great." He didn't sound enthusiastic about it. Maybe after he had time to unwind, find some ice for his knee and a little more for a drink. Sid got out of the jeep as soon as it was parked, just to eliminate the chance he could be offered help. He was more careful about it than he'd been with the helicopter, but a grunt still escaped with the effort.

"And painkillers?" He couldn't stop himself from asking after all that. "Vicodin, or whatever." He was hoping vicodin. He was really hoping vicodin, or maybe oxycotton. The list went on, all waltzing through his head with the throbbing.