Hallway Kismet
Who: Johnson, Dave, Angela
What: Johnson and a certain little girl meet...
When: February 2nd, Noon.
Where: Hallway, Guards Wing.
Where footsteps should be heavy, the sound of a large man striding down a hallway. Johnson's careful placement of each boot made little noise. It was a common trait of those who had been in the Resistance. Longcoats had been able to afford to make all the ruckus they pleased. Ironically, it had been the forces of darkness who had been able to walk in the sun, while the forces for the light where forced into darkness.
He was due to meet his husband for lunch in a half-hour, and had decided to head to the Guards galley early from the shooting range. Going to the range was part of his routine, not just because guards had a certain number of hours they had to log each week, but because he had found it relaxing. Although Dave would likely smirk and burst out n a feast of innuendo. Johnson just liked the sense of calm he found when he had a gun in his hand and a target in front of him.
THe sound of a soft tune being hummed caught his attention, even before he turned the corner, and saw her. A young girl, best he could guess age wise was somewhere between eleven and fourteen, sitting on a short marble bench against the wall. Her head was hanging down, an auburn curtain of hair shielding her face from view, hands gripping the bench on either side of her knees, feet kicking lightly back and forth.
He stopped a short distance away, wondering why there was a girl alone in an area usually only frequented by guards.
"Hello," seemed like the appropriate response.
What: Johnson and a certain little girl meet...
When: February 2nd, Noon.
Where: Hallway, Guards Wing.
Where footsteps should be heavy, the sound of a large man striding down a hallway. Johnson's careful placement of each boot made little noise. It was a common trait of those who had been in the Resistance. Longcoats had been able to afford to make all the ruckus they pleased. Ironically, it had been the forces of darkness who had been able to walk in the sun, while the forces for the light where forced into darkness.
He was due to meet his husband for lunch in a half-hour, and had decided to head to the Guards galley early from the shooting range. Going to the range was part of his routine, not just because guards had a certain number of hours they had to log each week, but because he had found it relaxing. Although Dave would likely smirk and burst out n a feast of innuendo. Johnson just liked the sense of calm he found when he had a gun in his hand and a target in front of him.
THe sound of a soft tune being hummed caught his attention, even before he turned the corner, and saw her. A young girl, best he could guess age wise was somewhere between eleven and fourteen, sitting on a short marble bench against the wall. Her head was hanging down, an auburn curtain of hair shielding her face from view, hands gripping the bench on either side of her knees, feet kicking lightly back and forth.
He stopped a short distance away, wondering why there was a girl alone in an area usually only frequented by guards.
"Hello," seemed like the appropriate response.