Martin Darkov - 8th generation (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
theguideless) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
exsiliumlogs2013-04-11 09:38 pm
theguideless) wrote in exsiliumlogs2013-04-11 09:38 pm
air mail [OPEN]
Date & Time: 4/11, sporadic times in the afternoon
Location: across the street from the apartment bldg
Characters: Martin, all of you
Summary: it's not actually air mail it's more like fail mail
Warnings: you tell me
Martin's letters were not the sort to be sent – not conventionally, not intentionally – but the wind seemed inclined to give it a try, peeling pages out of his careless fingers as he carried them up the outdoor stairs to the floor he stayed on.
"Woh– wait, no!"
Five, six pages? He nearly forgot, his hand flexing and finding nothing crinkling against it as he raced down the steps, eyes on the sky and the kidnapped pages. He nearly tripped over his own ankle, rounding the last flight and hopping off the final three steps, landing with a heavy whuff! on the ground. With no time to spare before the pages would flutter out of sight, he hurried across the street, shuffling here and there in wait for those that had hit the wall and begun a staggering descent. He hopped a few times before – "Ha–!" – catching one in a hasty, flailing grab, doubling his efforts for another.
There's two safe, but...
He looked about, ears straining for the sound of the paper. They weren't in the air, so...where?
So Martin took to looking, scouring the length of the building opposite his home, peering around the corner and grimacing at the mess of trash and...well, papers waiting for him. Oh, no... He only gave a few messy pieces a ginger pick-through before backing away, chewing on his lip.
It wasn't long before he'd taken a seat near that corner, back against the wall and knees drawn up to make a lap for him to smooth out the pages he'd managed to catch. Some of the graphite had smudged with the effort (and his sweaty palms), leaving letters smeared and strange.
He let out a sigh, feeling some of the adrenaline shake off. These aren't in order...
He'd take up the search again, then – more than once before retreating back to the wall to think about it...and zone out a bit, getting lost in thoughts that led to nowhere and other places much farther out of reach than they had been before. It was hardly a productive use of an afternoon, but Martin had very few obligations to tend to. And in any case, those pages were a kind of obligation in his mind.
Was it three missing? Or four...?
Location: across the street from the apartment bldg
Characters: Martin, all of you
Summary: it's not actually air mail it's more like fail mail
Warnings: you tell me
Martin's letters were not the sort to be sent – not conventionally, not intentionally – but the wind seemed inclined to give it a try, peeling pages out of his careless fingers as he carried them up the outdoor stairs to the floor he stayed on.
"Woh– wait, no!"
Five, six pages? He nearly forgot, his hand flexing and finding nothing crinkling against it as he raced down the steps, eyes on the sky and the kidnapped pages. He nearly tripped over his own ankle, rounding the last flight and hopping off the final three steps, landing with a heavy whuff! on the ground. With no time to spare before the pages would flutter out of sight, he hurried across the street, shuffling here and there in wait for those that had hit the wall and begun a staggering descent. He hopped a few times before – "Ha–!" – catching one in a hasty, flailing grab, doubling his efforts for another.
There's two safe, but...
He looked about, ears straining for the sound of the paper. They weren't in the air, so...where?
So Martin took to looking, scouring the length of the building opposite his home, peering around the corner and grimacing at the mess of trash and...well, papers waiting for him. Oh, no... He only gave a few messy pieces a ginger pick-through before backing away, chewing on his lip.
It wasn't long before he'd taken a seat near that corner, back against the wall and knees drawn up to make a lap for him to smooth out the pages he'd managed to catch. Some of the graphite had smudged with the effort (and his sweaty palms), leaving letters smeared and strange.
He let out a sigh, feeling some of the adrenaline shake off. These aren't in order...
He'd take up the search again, then – more than once before retreating back to the wall to think about it...and zone out a bit, getting lost in thoughts that led to nowhere and other places much farther out of reach than they had been before. It was hardly a productive use of an afternoon, but Martin had very few obligations to tend to. And in any case, those pages were a kind of obligation in his mind.
Was it three missing? Or four...?
no subject
Martin stared for a length, still waiting for his thoughts to catch up with all the rest of him having been pulled along. He was surprised, and certainly didn't understand how she was able to make such a bee-line right for the nearest piece of paper. With his free hand, he plucked it and squinted, already seeing color and ink that was certainly not a sign of his own.
"N-no, this isn't mine. I don't think any of these over here are...I looked before, but..."