(no subject)
WHO: Franklin Mott [vfranklinmott] & Thomas Cromwell [unfittomeddle].
WHAT: Out and about to get a feel for his surroundings, Cromwell runs into an unfamiliar other with a familiarity about him.
WHEN: Tuesday, early evening.
WHERE: Corridor, Level 5.
WARNING: Franklin is a warning in himself.
NOTE: Closed.
LOG:
It was something that needed getting use to. New surroundings amongst a strange atmosphere with equally strange individuals wandering the halls of the establishment. It had only been a night since his arrival and still he could not completely wrap his head around the entire ordeal and at times questioned why he had even agreed to partake in such a venture in the first place. Yet, such thoughts were often immediately silenced due to the circumstances he left behind and while behind he left his family, he also kept his life which he was certain he was to lose. Always there would always be the question of what truly happened amidst his mind, always the curiosity and while he was headed in the direction of library he never once really thought of taking up text with something involving his life, if they did even exist as he had been told. Something amongst his subconscious was wary to find out, preferring to remain in perpetual inquisitiveness instead of solidifying a point he was not even certain he would believe despite how respectful the text that informed him.
It would be questions that he could brave later, not so immediate and for that moment he was content finding familiarity within the facility, keeping to himself and figuring out the twists and turns of modern day technology, something that seemed slightly overwhelming in which he was content at least one of the items he had given held context he was privy to, in which he was allowed to write his responses to in the outlandish device that allowed him to communicate with others. It would be a lie to state that the replies on the other end perturbed him to no end as the speed in which he received them was nothing akin to the methods of communication he was use to and while pushing away the thought of calling it a form of witchcraft, he was not certain what else to consider it.
Still, without a care for time or rest, he ventured outward throughout the levels, in search of the library he had been directed to, interested to see what would greet him in the end.
WHAT: Out and about to get a feel for his surroundings, Cromwell runs into an unfamiliar other with a familiarity about him.
WHEN: Tuesday, early evening.
WHERE: Corridor, Level 5.
WARNING: Franklin is a warning in himself.
NOTE: Closed.
LOG:
It was something that needed getting use to. New surroundings amongst a strange atmosphere with equally strange individuals wandering the halls of the establishment. It had only been a night since his arrival and still he could not completely wrap his head around the entire ordeal and at times questioned why he had even agreed to partake in such a venture in the first place. Yet, such thoughts were often immediately silenced due to the circumstances he left behind and while behind he left his family, he also kept his life which he was certain he was to lose. Always there would always be the question of what truly happened amidst his mind, always the curiosity and while he was headed in the direction of library he never once really thought of taking up text with something involving his life, if they did even exist as he had been told. Something amongst his subconscious was wary to find out, preferring to remain in perpetual inquisitiveness instead of solidifying a point he was not even certain he would believe despite how respectful the text that informed him.
It would be questions that he could brave later, not so immediate and for that moment he was content finding familiarity within the facility, keeping to himself and figuring out the twists and turns of modern day technology, something that seemed slightly overwhelming in which he was content at least one of the items he had given held context he was privy to, in which he was allowed to write his responses to in the outlandish device that allowed him to communicate with others. It would be a lie to state that the replies on the other end perturbed him to no end as the speed in which he received them was nothing akin to the methods of communication he was use to and while pushing away the thought of calling it a form of witchcraft, he was not certain what else to consider it.
Still, without a care for time or rest, he ventured outward throughout the levels, in search of the library he had been directed to, interested to see what would greet him in the end.