Da, I know it's two am... and, nyet, this is NOT a booty call...
WHO: Arthur and Ivan
WHEN: Dead hours of Friday Morning, October 23rd
WHERE: The Myrtles House and Ivan's Apartment
WHAT: After suffering from brief insomnia, Ivan decides to phone Arthur Kirkland to interrogate him about the 24th of August.
The second time his eyes opened that morning, the analog clock glared the numbers 2, 3, and 4 at him in a fluorescent green that was much too bright for his eyes. It was thirty-four minutes past two in the morning. Ah, but it was thirty-four minutes past ten in Moscow. Yes, the day had been tiring. Yes, he knew the following day would be worse than the last, but… why couldn’t his mind show a little mercy and at least allow him a few hours sleep?
No, of course it wouldn’t… because he knew the moment he closed his eyes, the shadows would return. They would wait for him. They wanted him to fall asleep.
No, not tonight. The ambiance of his office would probably suit his need to quell the nightmares. He would nap during his break. The therapist’s couch was comfortable enough. He has slept there before.
However, that didn’t keep his mind from wandering. They’d… gotten worse since the end of August… significantly worse. More real. The bed creaked and groaned as he sat up, sheets draping to fit the curves of his legs; somewhere the scarf he took off before sleeping fell off of the side of the bed. He paid no mind to it, hand groping around the nightstand until his fingers bumped against a familiar rounded object. His thumb squeezed the camera button on the side and the room flooded in backlight. Ivan hissed and pressed the phone face down into the mattress until the spots in his eyes subsided.
He never bothered to learn numbers. He only remembered one, but… the name wasn’t important. After mentally preparing himself for the optical abuse, he drew the phone from its smothering hold, and squinted at the object like he would to the sun (the sun was dimmer than this) as his thumb hastily cycled through the contacts list. Kirkland was located too far down the list… but he took almost no time to thumb the green icon and draw the device up to his ear.
There was a brief pause before it began ringing.
WHEN: Dead hours of Friday Morning, October 23rd
WHERE: The Myrtles House and Ivan's Apartment
WHAT: After suffering from brief insomnia, Ivan decides to phone Arthur Kirkland to interrogate him about the 24th of August.
The second time his eyes opened that morning, the analog clock glared the numbers 2, 3, and 4 at him in a fluorescent green that was much too bright for his eyes. It was thirty-four minutes past two in the morning. Ah, but it was thirty-four minutes past ten in Moscow. Yes, the day had been tiring. Yes, he knew the following day would be worse than the last, but… why couldn’t his mind show a little mercy and at least allow him a few hours sleep?
No, of course it wouldn’t… because he knew the moment he closed his eyes, the shadows would return. They would wait for him. They wanted him to fall asleep.
No, not tonight. The ambiance of his office would probably suit his need to quell the nightmares. He would nap during his break. The therapist’s couch was comfortable enough. He has slept there before.
However, that didn’t keep his mind from wandering. They’d… gotten worse since the end of August… significantly worse. More real. The bed creaked and groaned as he sat up, sheets draping to fit the curves of his legs; somewhere the scarf he took off before sleeping fell off of the side of the bed. He paid no mind to it, hand groping around the nightstand until his fingers bumped against a familiar rounded object. His thumb squeezed the camera button on the side and the room flooded in backlight. Ivan hissed and pressed the phone face down into the mattress until the spots in his eyes subsided.
He never bothered to learn numbers. He only remembered one, but… the name wasn’t important. After mentally preparing himself for the optical abuse, he drew the phone from its smothering hold, and squinted at the object like he would to the sun (the sun was dimmer than this) as his thumb hastily cycled through the contacts list. Kirkland was located too far down the list… but he took almost no time to thumb the green icon and draw the device up to his ear.
There was a brief pause before it began ringing.