Bobby Drake

Well... last night's banquet thingy had certainly managed to do the job of distracting him from worrying about missing people, even if he wasn't interested in being anyone's follower and he almost sure she'd been flirting with him.

However, the relatively good mood evaporated once the phone rang. Or more accurately, once Hank managed to interrupt Bobby's babbling of "oh hey, you guys are okay, I was worried about you!" to tell him why he'd called.

Bobby had then made a series of calls of his own to people in Fandom, letting them know he had to go home for a while. And now he was packing, at least in theory. In practice, he was just kind of staring at the empty suitcase open on his bed.

Jean was dead. It didn't seem real, and yet, it was.

[ooc: If you think you got a call, you did! Door's open, post is open too!]

Bobby had just gotten back to his room after history class and was psyching himself up for a nice, lazy weekend when his phone rang.

"Scott?" he said as he picked up. Thank god for caller ID. "What's up, man?

"That's not funny, dude.

You're- you're serious, aren't you?" No, that wasn't his voice hitching just a little. Was not. "Yeah, I'll be there. As soon as I can. I just need to, um. Pack, or whatever. I'll be there," he repeated. Oh, now he was babbling. Not a good sign.

He threw a few articles of clothing in a bag, not really noticing or caring what exactly he was packing. Once that was done, he made a few phone calls and scribbled a quick note for Kate: Had to go home. Not sure when I'll be back. Right before the "when", there was a scribbled blotch, as if he'd written "if" and then thought better of it.

Throwing his duffel over his shoulder, he headed off to the causeway.

[ooc: Bobby's gone home for a few days so I can put him through evil canon things while I'm off to visit my parents.]