(no subject)

[stuck-mynock.livejournal.com]

Atton's out by the lake, and from the way he's glaring at an irritatingly smug looking tree, he's probably brooding. Besides him are two lamenting socks, singing mournful songs in high, squeaky tones. These songs have no words, because socks can't speak. Every so often, Atton's patience snaps and he tries to attack the socks.

They are, it seems, very skilled at dodging.