Maka pounds up the stairs of the Gauche to the roof and slams the door open, sending pigeons chirruping and cooing in spirals up to the sky. She races through the cloud of dislodged feathers and slapping wings to leap onto the roof's ledge. For a moment she totters, then steadies, takes a deep breath and screams at the top of her lungs.
"
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Read more... )
And in his bored meanderings around the Tower, he has found... His cat. And a typewriter. Why does his cat have a typewriter?
"And is there a particular reason why you seem to be having a staring contest with a typewriter, Ragnar?" He asks, quirking an eyebrow.
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Ragnar's tail sweeps back and forth in irritation. He raises one paw and leans forward just enough to smack at the keys. A collection of letters hit the paper with a heavy thwap and the cat skips back.
"What is the meaning of this?"
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Well.
He sighs and studies the ceiling, wondering why in God's name this universe is so insane and steps a little bit closer. "It would appear that it's your journal, although why this place decided to give you a typewriter is absolutely beyond me."
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Then again, the network is psychic.. As is Cy. So.
"I wouldn't try to make sense of this place, if I were you," he sighs, shaking his head. "I've found that it doesn't do much good."
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Really, though, Sark prefers phones. He misses phones... He could buy a phone, but what would be the point?
"Of course, it doesn't do you much good if you can't read or write, now does it?" He kneels down beside Ragnar and tilts his head a bit at the typewriter, his lips quirking in something that's partly amusement and partly... Something else.
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Yes, Sark. Your cat wants to know if he can learn how to read.
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"I suppose it's possible. I've never heard of anyone teaching a cat how to read, but... Then again, I've never heard of cats who could speak either."
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He sniffs at the page. "They are curious devices, these journals."
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Shortcomings that are not so much shortcomings as epicly bad faults that have put her in precarious situations, but...
He reaches over and scritches Ragnar's ears gently, almost unconsciously. "They are, indeed. I wouldn't give them more thought than they deserve, however. That's a splendid way to drive yourself mad."
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