Log; ongoing - Isolophobia
WHO: Lynda Moss (hisforonehour) and Jon Crane (is_fear_itself)
WHERE: Raoul Duke and Lynda Moss's home.
WHEN: Backdated to the morningish of the 9th
WARNINGS: Nah it should all be good
SUMMARY: Jon comes by to visit Raoul, finds his roomie, Lynda, instead. Awkwardness probably ensues.
FORMAT: Para to start? IDK after.
Jon had taken to walking the streets of the City bundled up, covertly armed to an impressive degree, and scouted by a few crows or ravens who called out occasional all-clears, and treated him like a wingless member of their murder. He was exploring, mostly, with no aim but to expand his horizons and familiarize himself with the environment. So many long years in Gotham had made him complacent about streets and landmarks - he would have to relearn everything.
He stopped outside one particular building, recognizing the address as that of Mr. Duke the journalist, the one who had been a very odd mixture of deferential and accommodating, and smiled to himself. He took out his mask, warmed from its usual place in the inside pocket of his ratty trenchcoat, and pulled it on, taking a moment to fiddle with the rebreather and then heading up to ring the doorbell.
Why not pay a little visit?
WHERE: Raoul Duke and Lynda Moss's home.
WHEN: Backdated to the morningish of the 9th
WARNINGS: Nah it should all be good
SUMMARY: Jon comes by to visit Raoul, finds his roomie, Lynda, instead. Awkwardness probably ensues.
FORMAT: Para to start? IDK after.
Jon had taken to walking the streets of the City bundled up, covertly armed to an impressive degree, and scouted by a few crows or ravens who called out occasional all-clears, and treated him like a wingless member of their murder. He was exploring, mostly, with no aim but to expand his horizons and familiarize himself with the environment. So many long years in Gotham had made him complacent about streets and landmarks - he would have to relearn everything.
He stopped outside one particular building, recognizing the address as that of Mr. Duke the journalist, the one who had been a very odd mixture of deferential and accommodating, and smiled to himself. He took out his mask, warmed from its usual place in the inside pocket of his ratty trenchcoat, and pulled it on, taking a moment to fiddle with the rebreather and then heading up to ring the doorbell.
Why not pay a little visit?