4 - The time is out of joint-O cursèd spite, That ever I was born to set it right!
[Odd still hadn't figured out filters. It wasn't that he couldn't figure them out. He just hadn't bothered to pay his journal attention, except for the few times it opened itself near him, letting voices spill out to interrupt sleep or wandering. He also hadn't said much. Mostly, he'd been content to read and to listen and to explore.
The leaves have him thinking though, even more than the odd shift in their living arrangements. Eventually, he'll open the journal long enough to actually address the castle.]
...Does it snow here?
[his real purpose tonight, though, is to find...something. Anything familiar. He tries to focus on Pico Mundo. He pictures Chief Porter's face, and Terry's Grill, and Little Ozzie. Even Terrible Chester makes it into the list, though that was perhaps more from trying not to think about him than it was from any sort of hidden affection.
He thought about it all, and then he wandered. Up and down the streets of the city, heedless of good parts of town or bad parts of town or shop signs or traffic or people. He was just moving.
Normally psychic magnetism would lead him to the thing he was thinking about, especially with how focused he was this time. But nothing happened. There was only him and the city and the hours as they were trod under the steady thump of his feet.]
[OOC: Open over the journals or in town. He would have been wandering all over the city from early evening until well past sunset.]
The leaves have him thinking though, even more than the odd shift in their living arrangements. Eventually, he'll open the journal long enough to actually address the castle.]
...Does it snow here?
[his real purpose tonight, though, is to find...something. Anything familiar. He tries to focus on Pico Mundo. He pictures Chief Porter's face, and Terry's Grill, and Little Ozzie. Even Terrible Chester makes it into the list, though that was perhaps more from trying not to think about him than it was from any sort of hidden affection.
He thought about it all, and then he wandered. Up and down the streets of the city, heedless of good parts of town or bad parts of town or shop signs or traffic or people. He was just moving.
Normally psychic magnetism would lead him to the thing he was thinking about, especially with how focused he was this time. But nothing happened. There was only him and the city and the hours as they were trod under the steady thump of his feet.]
[OOC: Open over the journals or in town. He would have been wandering all over the city from early evening until well past sunset.]