Most times - I miss the voice that goes unheard
Alfred Pennyworth is out and about. He is dressed impeccably for a day out in the cold, and he is attempting to do some shopping. There's nothing essential to buy, at the moment, merely various things for projects he has waiting back at the hotel.
There is thread, of course, as he has quite a bit of sewing to catch up on, and several ingredients for some baking he would like to do.
He is also searching, quite persistently, considering the casual nature of the trip, for some lemon oil to do a thorough cleaning of some of the wooden shelves back at the hotel.
Back at the Conrad, Rogue is fighting with a blanket. She brought it down from her room, but it's caught on one of the buckles attached to her pants. ...She doesn't have a lot of pants, and her favorites are the ones that came with her through the rift.
Green leather uniform pants. With buckles, apparently.
Yanking hard (as opposed to gently trying to shift the fabric), Rogue pulls herself right off of the sofa and onto the floor. "Hells bells."
Finally, with a small smile on his face, Nikolas Demidov is walking down the street, toward his building. He is dressed in charcoal gray, and looking rather handsome. There's a healthy flush to his face, and all seems to be well.
He's pondering how long it would take his nephew to choke to death on his own blood.
His smile widens and the bag he's carrying swings slightly as it dangles from his fingers.
There is thread, of course, as he has quite a bit of sewing to catch up on, and several ingredients for some baking he would like to do.
He is also searching, quite persistently, considering the casual nature of the trip, for some lemon oil to do a thorough cleaning of some of the wooden shelves back at the hotel.
Back at the Conrad, Rogue is fighting with a blanket. She brought it down from her room, but it's caught on one of the buckles attached to her pants. ...She doesn't have a lot of pants, and her favorites are the ones that came with her through the rift.
Green leather uniform pants. With buckles, apparently.
Yanking hard (as opposed to gently trying to shift the fabric), Rogue pulls herself right off of the sofa and onto the floor. "Hells bells."
Finally, with a small smile on his face, Nikolas Demidov is walking down the street, toward his building. He is dressed in charcoal gray, and looking rather handsome. There's a healthy flush to his face, and all seems to be well.
He's pondering how long it would take his nephew to choke to death on his own blood.
His smile widens and the bag he's carrying swings slightly as it dangles from his fingers.