make a new plan, Stan. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lazyinlove) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
exsiliumlogs2013-06-26 01:13 am
lazyinlove) wrote in exsiliumlogs2013-06-26 01:13 am
(open) The wall
Date & Time: Tuesday (today)
Location: Out in the city!
Characters: Stanley Lucerne and whoever stumbles across him.
Summary: Stan has the feeling he could plaster a wall if he set his mind to it...so he gives it a shot. He hasn't recruited anyone, so all are as likely/welcome to be there as you want.
Warnings: Cursing. He's an American teenage boy from the modern era. Also drugs, whoops. You know, stuff like that.
((OOC And any format is fine, I'll follow. Just starting in prose because it's less work on my phone.))
It wasn't a gradual thing. Gradually, it might've made sense. Maybe he could've mulled it over in his sleep and worked things out. People did that. Famous people. He'd fallen asleep in many a history class to the drone of 'and in a dream, inspiration solved x huge historical problem.'
Instead, it was sudden. As soon as that lady with the weird speech patterns had suggested it, he'd known it was in there. The ability to help. The knowledge of how to go about rebuilding. Which was weird, frankly, since he'd never so much as lifted a hammer before in his life. Yeah, sure, there were tools in the garage back home. His dad might've even known how a few of them worked, though that was debatable. A certainty was that he had never even attempted to show them to Stanley, who had always made his disinterest in manual labor known to those around him.
So it was more than a little unexpected when this morning he woke with not only the feeling that he was capable of helping in the aftermath of the bombing, but the alien new feeling of actually wanting to do so. Which was how he found himself gathering stones and materials, and quietly setting to work. It didn't even matter what the buildings had been before, because he wasn't interested in helping anyone specific. It was sort of like being possessed.
Then again, it could've been worse. He could've been levitating and vomiting pea soup. That would've sucked...
Location: Out in the city!
Characters: Stanley Lucerne and whoever stumbles across him.
Summary: Stan has the feeling he could plaster a wall if he set his mind to it...so he gives it a shot. He hasn't recruited anyone, so all are as likely/welcome to be there as you want.
Warnings: Cursing. He's an American teenage boy from the modern era. Also drugs, whoops. You know, stuff like that.
((OOC And any format is fine, I'll follow. Just starting in prose because it's less work on my phone.))
It wasn't a gradual thing. Gradually, it might've made sense. Maybe he could've mulled it over in his sleep and worked things out. People did that. Famous people. He'd fallen asleep in many a history class to the drone of 'and in a dream, inspiration solved x huge historical problem.'
Instead, it was sudden. As soon as that lady with the weird speech patterns had suggested it, he'd known it was in there. The ability to help. The knowledge of how to go about rebuilding. Which was weird, frankly, since he'd never so much as lifted a hammer before in his life. Yeah, sure, there were tools in the garage back home. His dad might've even known how a few of them worked, though that was debatable. A certainty was that he had never even attempted to show them to Stanley, who had always made his disinterest in manual labor known to those around him.
So it was more than a little unexpected when this morning he woke with not only the feeling that he was capable of helping in the aftermath of the bombing, but the alien new feeling of actually wanting to do so. Which was how he found himself gathering stones and materials, and quietly setting to work. It didn't even matter what the buildings had been before, because he wasn't interested in helping anyone specific. It was sort of like being possessed.
Then again, it could've been worse. He could've been levitating and vomiting pea soup. That would've sucked...
no subject
She pauses, head tilting back as she looks at the sky. It's not a nice place here, no matter how nice the people.
"There are so many people here who don't know how to fight yet."
no subject
"No shit. I'm going to seriously die if they toss me on a battlefield."
quality*** wow i even double checked it
"But you don't have to fight. You can wait until it's over, if that's what you want."
I thought there were of two minds on the matter.
Or get him horribly, horribly mangled first before the inevitable death happens. Because he doesn't even have a weapon, and even if he happened to get one from somewhere, he definitely wouldn't know how to use it.
"I don't know. I'm not really that guy."
noo it was quantity over quality c:
"That's okay."
no subject
He admits, shrugging. He'd been honest with people about it. The fact that they still don't seem to think it will be a problem is disturbing, but there isn't much he can do to change their mind besides dying gruesomely. Which he's not exactly in a hurry to do.
"What brings you out in this fine weather?"
no subject
"I don't like staying inside all the time," she motions to the wall he's attempting to fix, "how's it going?"
no subject
no subject
"Good luck with it."
no subject