it's only a game
[Who:] Lucius Malfoy, Sylar
[What:] A discussion on the state of play takes place.
[When:] Early Week 6
[Where:] Stadium; East Gallery
[Warnings:] Nada, will update as needed.
There will be a time when battle is laid furious upon the decimated city. After Johann's little outburst on the networks, Lucius expects there to be more of the same, and maybe from himself as well. It is said that war is a flash of fire and pain in between long expanses of waiting, and that it is difficult to discern which part is the worst.
The armies are growing. Rebuilding themselves.
It is sunset, in Zone Fifteen. Rather than hole himself up in his office, Lucius has come here instead. The East Gallery was once an open, generic space for conferences, stand up banquets and other such functions, with broad glass windows overlooking the field and three rows of seats close by to watch the game with backs turned to the empty area behind them. Lucius doesn't take a seat for himself, simply standing behind the rows and, rather than regarding the empty field delegated to training and gardening, he observes the sink of the sun beyond the western edge of the stadium. It stains the sky golds and reds, and he doesn't have the same view from his office.
He stands still and imperious, with his marked hand resting upon silver snake handle, cane braced against the floor. His other hand grips a mug of black ceramic. Tea, no milk, but then, Earl Grey with milk is a crime against all natural things. It could use lemon. Rather than put on his robes for the occasion, he is dressed instead in the Muggle-ish clothing provided, a BDU jacket and matching trousers, simple cotton beneath the former, but his posture suggests someone more accustomed to finer things, as does the affectation of his cane.
Despite this particularly leisured scenario, Lucius can't help but keep an ear out for company, good and bad.
[What:] A discussion on the state of play takes place.
[When:] Early Week 6
[Where:] Stadium; East Gallery
[Warnings:] Nada, will update as needed.
There will be a time when battle is laid furious upon the decimated city. After Johann's little outburst on the networks, Lucius expects there to be more of the same, and maybe from himself as well. It is said that war is a flash of fire and pain in between long expanses of waiting, and that it is difficult to discern which part is the worst.
The armies are growing. Rebuilding themselves.
It is sunset, in Zone Fifteen. Rather than hole himself up in his office, Lucius has come here instead. The East Gallery was once an open, generic space for conferences, stand up banquets and other such functions, with broad glass windows overlooking the field and three rows of seats close by to watch the game with backs turned to the empty area behind them. Lucius doesn't take a seat for himself, simply standing behind the rows and, rather than regarding the empty field delegated to training and gardening, he observes the sink of the sun beyond the western edge of the stadium. It stains the sky golds and reds, and he doesn't have the same view from his office.
He stands still and imperious, with his marked hand resting upon silver snake handle, cane braced against the floor. His other hand grips a mug of black ceramic. Tea, no milk, but then, Earl Grey with milk is a crime against all natural things. It could use lemon. Rather than put on his robes for the occasion, he is dressed instead in the Muggle-ish clothing provided, a BDU jacket and matching trousers, simple cotton beneath the former, but his posture suggests someone more accustomed to finer things, as does the affectation of his cane.
Despite this particularly leisured scenario, Lucius can't help but keep an ear out for company, good and bad.