(no subject)
Who: Jonas (Middle Billy Goat) & Luke (Eldest Billy Goat)
When: Friday evening
What: Faux-family reunion
Where: The Pen, rooftop shenanigans.
Status: Thread, Incomplete
Going to the roof was a really good plan, even if it was freezing and dark and slippery-sloped, so he kept skidding along the tiles and almost falling to his untimely death, but whatever. Jonas wanted to see the buildings spark to life now that the sun was almost gone, because it was totally awesome, like watching really slow fireworks. Fireworks were maybe one of his favorite things outside of fedoras and science fiction movies of the 80s. Mostly, though, he was just tired of his new room, the one that looked like an old closet and didn't have any of his things because Bob, I'm a scary bridge troll rent-a-cop had jacked them all while he was off communing with nature and photographing rabid deer from Marcel's Buick LeSabre.
It was a treacherous walk after hoisting himself up off the fire escape, which was no mean feat for someone of his considerable lack of mass. He was so totally capable though, and after a few near misses with shadows and the rain gutter, he settled into the sharp pitch where a gable joined the west side of the roof. He tucked his chin deeply into his scarf to protect it from the bitter breeze flaying over the building top, which was sort of really entirely pointless given he was dressed like a lost Venice Beach bum: coat hanging open and mostly off, devil horns askew atop his head, bare feet vaguely attached to flipflops. Seriously, they were way more comfortable than regular shoes, no joke.
His toes curled like cashews against the rubber soles of the flipflops, and he tucked his fingers under the hem of his t-shirt for protection. Entranced by the faceted glow of Manhattan windows he so totally didn't even blink at the sound of someone else laboring up onto the roof.
When: Friday evening
What: Faux-family reunion
Where: The Pen, rooftop shenanigans.
Status: Thread, Incomplete
Going to the roof was a really good plan, even if it was freezing and dark and slippery-sloped, so he kept skidding along the tiles and almost falling to his untimely death, but whatever. Jonas wanted to see the buildings spark to life now that the sun was almost gone, because it was totally awesome, like watching really slow fireworks. Fireworks were maybe one of his favorite things outside of fedoras and science fiction movies of the 80s. Mostly, though, he was just tired of his new room, the one that looked like an old closet and didn't have any of his things because Bob, I'm a scary bridge troll rent-a-cop had jacked them all while he was off communing with nature and photographing rabid deer from Marcel's Buick LeSabre.
It was a treacherous walk after hoisting himself up off the fire escape, which was no mean feat for someone of his considerable lack of mass. He was so totally capable though, and after a few near misses with shadows and the rain gutter, he settled into the sharp pitch where a gable joined the west side of the roof. He tucked his chin deeply into his scarf to protect it from the bitter breeze flaying over the building top, which was sort of really entirely pointless given he was dressed like a lost Venice Beach bum: coat hanging open and mostly off, devil horns askew atop his head, bare feet vaguely attached to flipflops. Seriously, they were way more comfortable than regular shoes, no joke.
His toes curled like cashews against the rubber soles of the flipflops, and he tucked his fingers under the hem of his t-shirt for protection. Entranced by the faceted glow of Manhattan windows he so totally didn't even blink at the sound of someone else laboring up onto the roof.