Willard H. Wright (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alethiological) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2013-07-02 09:47 pm
alethiological) wrote in towerofanimus2013-07-02 09:47 pm
† 1st Mystery; Arrival
Characters: Willard H. Wright, Whoever else makes the mistake of speaking to him
Setting: Room 1-18, Cafeteria, Library
Format: Brackets as starter, but I can switch to whatever.
Summary: The usual new arrival crap, you know how it goes.
Warnings: Old cranky angels are rude as hell
----------
[Room 1-18]
[The first thing done upon regaining movement is a slow, glance-over of the letters, except they're tossed aside in record speed in favor of freezing in place for a minute or two, eyes closed.
No contact. Great.
Then it's like a switch is hit and all the slow movements are switched to a snapping efficiency, slamming open the trunk and digging through the clothes to land on - something.
A frightening stack of six-hundred plus papers that gets pulled out and flipped through quickly while crouched, then - just as quickly as the energy appears - it goes out. Back to apathy with a sigh and a shut of the trunk.]
[Floor 1]
[Alright whatever, so apparently one of the things you have to do is eat the stupid oatmeal. Whatever. There's worse things in the world to deal with.
So after getting dressed and maybe punching a wall or two, there's a deadpan mountain of a person slowly reading through a pile of papers and tapping against the bowl in a manner that can only be defined as distracted.]
[Floor 3]
[Obligations completed, the next thing on the list would be exploring the tower and taking mental notes.
Except the third floor was a library.
Okay, mental map of the tower can happen later. Now is the time to hide out in the mystery section for hours and hours and hours on end. At least he keeps to himself.]
Setting: Room 1-18, Cafeteria, Library
Format: Brackets as starter, but I can switch to whatever.
Summary: The usual new arrival crap, you know how it goes.
Warnings: Old cranky angels are rude as hell
----------
[Room 1-18]
[The first thing done upon regaining movement is a slow, glance-over of the letters, except they're tossed aside in record speed in favor of freezing in place for a minute or two, eyes closed.
No contact. Great.
Then it's like a switch is hit and all the slow movements are switched to a snapping efficiency, slamming open the trunk and digging through the clothes to land on - something.
A frightening stack of six-hundred plus papers that gets pulled out and flipped through quickly while crouched, then - just as quickly as the energy appears - it goes out. Back to apathy with a sigh and a shut of the trunk.]
[Floor 1]
[Alright whatever, so apparently one of the things you have to do is eat the stupid oatmeal. Whatever. There's worse things in the world to deal with.
So after getting dressed and maybe punching a wall or two, there's a deadpan mountain of a person slowly reading through a pile of papers and tapping against the bowl in a manner that can only be defined as distracted.]
[Floor 3]
[Obligations completed, the next thing on the list would be exploring the tower and taking mental notes.
Except the third floor was a library.
Okay, mental map of the tower can happen later. Now is the time to hide out in the mystery section for hours and hours and hours on end. At least he keeps to himself.]
no subject
But other than the odd flicker in his eyes at the 'was', he says nothing for the whole spiel.
Then he cracks an Insufferable Bastard Smirk at her. It's as close to a truce she'll ever get.] Can't promise anything. Rumor has it I'm rude.
no subject
[Although she does seem to understand, this is the way of Will. She wouldn't flat out agree to anything either, so she can't exactly complain.]
no subject
[And it's the same idle joking tone that comes up whenever you know a truth someone else doesn't. Lion's true gender will always be a personal secret to find hilarity in.
Even if it's less hilarious without the brat in question.
The sobering of his tone is all in Lambda's head, and he's still civil as ever after propping his chin in one hand.] You wanted to know what I remember, right? Which game are you from?
no subject
[She grins, shrugging.]
The sixth.
no subject
[Bang. Heart shot. A tiny snipe without any particular spite behind it.]
Seventh. Can't remember things if I'm ahead of you. ["How in the Lord's name is this supposed to be relevant to you."]
no subject
Wh-- of course she would! Bern loves me a whole lot, you're just jealous...!