(Untitled)

[darlingreporter]

There is a strange, bandaged man walking through the apartment complex. He stops at every open door and gazes in, not particularly caring if there's anyone in the room or not. Each time he moves on, apparently disastisfied with something.

Schwarzwald wants a room. But there are certain things he requiresA typewriter would be preferable, but if

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[notjustnarrator]

Schwarzwald will then notice a fairly bruised up man staring at him, eyes wide in either confusion or wonder or terror or some odd mix of all three.

(For the record, it's probably the latter; as far as Nick knows, he's looking at a real, live mummy!)

So he just stands there and stares.

[darlingreporter]

Schwarzwald pauses and stares back in that 'I'm not quite playing with a full deck' sort of way. "You. Where might I get a room and a typewriter?" he says, jumping right to the point. He's not one for small talk anyway. "I need to begin my work."

[notjustnarrator]

HOLY CRAP IT TALKED.

Nick's head tilts a little bit and he eyes the... thing... in front of him, taking a little step back.

"Um. You can uh, check the apartment assignments in 202, and... typewriter, not sure we have any around here, at least, I haven't seen them, and..."

He blinks.

"What are you?"

[darlingreporter]

"Yes... I think I will do so," he says, mentally noting to check that room. He also notes that the man is clearly afraid of him. Hehe, now that was funny!

"I'm a man, just like you," he says, leaning in a bit closer. "I was a reporter. But as you can see, the truth often comes at a price!" He holds up a bandaged hand. Burned flesh is visible between the wrappings.