Welcome to Paradise
Who: Mark Hunter
What: Arrival in Paradisa
When: Mid-morning, Monday
Where: His room, then the kitchen
Rating: The only G post he'll probably ever have.
When Mark awoke in the big, soft, comfortable bed, he knew something was wrong. This sure as hell wasn't juvie, and he knew he'd never seen a room like the one he was in before. He found his glasses on the nightstand near an open book, and slipped them on - only to see words start appearing before his eyes. He flipped another page, and voices drifted up to him like a radio on the most crystal-clear band he'd ever heard.
I must be dreaming, he thought, scrubbing a hand over his face. But he was riveted by the voices and the words, a bricolage of life unfolding in real time. There were people just as confused as him, and he listened prudently to the explanations they were given, occasionally leafing back in the book to confirm what he was hearing. From the sounds of it, the whole place was rife with secrets and confusion - and people in turmoil. People who didn't know where to turn, and just ended up standing still. It all had the rank smell of familiarity, even as some of it seemed utterly unbelievable. It was human nature to fall back on the familiar, Mark realized - and it was very possible that this place could benefit from his idea of familiarity.
Once he'd heard enough he rose, dressed, and silently wished for a floor map, tucking his journal under his arm. Quietly, he made his way toward the landmark that had caught his attention: the music room. There was a decidedly small collection of cassettes and vinyl, with a large compliment of the compact discs that had just started to hit the shelves at home. Ripping a page from his journal, Mark made a wish list of stereo equipment, topping it all off with a cart to carry it in, and selected a substantial pile of music before hauling it all back to his room. As he worked to assemble it all, he kept the journal open, listening to the steady stream of chatter. By the time he had the CD player, turntable, and equalizer wired up, he'd heard more than enough to confirm his suspicions. It was no Hubert Humphrey High ... No, this was a thousand times worse. Still slightly high off his new-found freedom, Mark took his strange surroundings as a challenge. The words were already coming to him, as he took a break to amble down to the first floor and raid the fridge.
This one's gonna be a doozy, he thought, smiling to himself. Come ten P.M, Paradisa isn't gonna know what hit it.
((OOC: This is an OPEN log, so you're welcome to bug Mark ... he'll make a much more vocal and formal introduction in Para shortly.))
What: Arrival in Paradisa
When: Mid-morning, Monday
Where: His room, then the kitchen
Rating: The only G post he'll probably ever have.
When Mark awoke in the big, soft, comfortable bed, he knew something was wrong. This sure as hell wasn't juvie, and he knew he'd never seen a room like the one he was in before. He found his glasses on the nightstand near an open book, and slipped them on - only to see words start appearing before his eyes. He flipped another page, and voices drifted up to him like a radio on the most crystal-clear band he'd ever heard.
I must be dreaming, he thought, scrubbing a hand over his face. But he was riveted by the voices and the words, a bricolage of life unfolding in real time. There were people just as confused as him, and he listened prudently to the explanations they were given, occasionally leafing back in the book to confirm what he was hearing. From the sounds of it, the whole place was rife with secrets and confusion - and people in turmoil. People who didn't know where to turn, and just ended up standing still. It all had the rank smell of familiarity, even as some of it seemed utterly unbelievable. It was human nature to fall back on the familiar, Mark realized - and it was very possible that this place could benefit from his idea of familiarity.
Once he'd heard enough he rose, dressed, and silently wished for a floor map, tucking his journal under his arm. Quietly, he made his way toward the landmark that had caught his attention: the music room. There was a decidedly small collection of cassettes and vinyl, with a large compliment of the compact discs that had just started to hit the shelves at home. Ripping a page from his journal, Mark made a wish list of stereo equipment, topping it all off with a cart to carry it in, and selected a substantial pile of music before hauling it all back to his room. As he worked to assemble it all, he kept the journal open, listening to the steady stream of chatter. By the time he had the CD player, turntable, and equalizer wired up, he'd heard more than enough to confirm his suspicions. It was no Hubert Humphrey High ... No, this was a thousand times worse. Still slightly high off his new-found freedom, Mark took his strange surroundings as a challenge. The words were already coming to him, as he took a break to amble down to the first floor and raid the fridge.
This one's gonna be a doozy, he thought, smiling to himself. Come ten P.M, Paradisa isn't gonna know what hit it.
((OOC: This is an OPEN log, so you're welcome to bug Mark ... he'll make a much more vocal and formal introduction in Para shortly.))