(no subject)
It's damp in the greenhouse. Moreso than usual. The tarps are all slick on their undersides and dripping -- it's a good thing Charles and Caspian hung them quite securely. The rain left a lot of moisture in the building can it be called that now? and now that the openings are covered the greenhouse is performing it's main function: trapping heat and moisture.
Plastic cloth doesn't let the light in like glass does. Instead, there's a faint ambient glow inside. Not really enough to see by, so Charles turns on the lights. One of them is partially cracked and makes a tiny humming sound.
Carefully avoiding the glass, he examines the greenhouse. Cupboards and shelves with tools, supplies, bags of potting soil, each and every row of plants.
There are some blood spatters, very faint now, on a few of the flowers. The rain must have washed most of it away. Many many footprints, in different sizes and shapes, but nothing particularly outstanding. Many of them have been softened, with the water.
There's nothing unusual that he couldn't have himself surmised.
Damn it all.
Plastic cloth doesn't let the light in like glass does. Instead, there's a faint ambient glow inside. Not really enough to see by, so Charles turns on the lights. One of them is partially cracked and makes a tiny humming sound.
Carefully avoiding the glass, he examines the greenhouse. Cupboards and shelves with tools, supplies, bags of potting soil, each and every row of plants.
There are some blood spatters, very faint now, on a few of the flowers. The rain must have washed most of it away. Many many footprints, in different sizes and shapes, but nothing particularly outstanding. Many of them have been softened, with the water.
There's nothing unusual that he couldn't have himself surmised.
Damn it all.