Days dissolve into the ether, condense like clouds and come raining back down…
In the halls of the Kashtta Tower - one rather rusted-out and old-blood-stained hall, to be particular - something is happening.
That "something" happens to be a door splintering apart and a ranting pseudo-Angel of Knowledge stumbling through the broken bits.
Dmitri Lang is gripping a pickaxe which shines faintly with clean gold light, and thus qualifies as the cleanest thing in the area. She herself is wearing the same clothing it looks like she's worn for about a month, her hair is tangled, there are bloodstains of various colors all over her, there are strange lumps on her back under her shirt, and she's got the slightly-too-intense gaze of someone who's holding onto sanity with both hands and a vengeance. She turns back to the door and brandishes the pickaxe, having taken in the hallway and not really placed it.
"Oh! Corporate policy is the game now, huh? What're you trying to say? I'll give you 'Russian politician' before 'corrupt CEO,' you fucking Tantalussic Rorschach city. Sambo, HA!"
And with that, she turns and starts pickaxing her way through the wall next to a completely different door.
In her defense, it'd make sense where she just came from even without a 100-degree fever.
In a hospital bed in a Wanderer-friendly institution, the Vesmier is still in a psychic coma. But after so long, his mind is beginning to wander.
Physically, there's no sign. But his awareness is spreading out, brushing by the minds of other psychics in the city, and to familiar minds he's visited or communicated with before. His mental presence carries with it a sound much like an orchestra tuning, and a low but steady murmuring in Gallifreyan.
And Owen Harper is in the Conrad Hotel Basement commons room.
Because no one said he couldn't be.
That "something" happens to be a door splintering apart and a ranting pseudo-Angel of Knowledge stumbling through the broken bits.
Dmitri Lang is gripping a pickaxe which shines faintly with clean gold light, and thus qualifies as the cleanest thing in the area. She herself is wearing the same clothing it looks like she's worn for about a month, her hair is tangled, there are bloodstains of various colors all over her, there are strange lumps on her back under her shirt, and she's got the slightly-too-intense gaze of someone who's holding onto sanity with both hands and a vengeance. She turns back to the door and brandishes the pickaxe, having taken in the hallway and not really placed it.
"Oh! Corporate policy is the game now, huh? What're you trying to say? I'll give you 'Russian politician' before 'corrupt CEO,' you fucking Tantalussic Rorschach city. Sambo, HA!"
And with that, she turns and starts pickaxing her way through the wall next to a completely different door.
In her defense, it'd make sense where she just came from even without a 100-degree fever.
In a hospital bed in a Wanderer-friendly institution, the Vesmier is still in a psychic coma. But after so long, his mind is beginning to wander.
Physically, there's no sign. But his awareness is spreading out, brushing by the minds of other psychics in the city, and to familiar minds he's visited or communicated with before. His mental presence carries with it a sound much like an orchestra tuning, and a low but steady murmuring in Gallifreyan.
And Owen Harper is in the Conrad Hotel Basement commons room.
Because no one said he couldn't be.