o2 - action. -> white rabbit (backdated by a week)
[ After some hours of scribbling in the NV-- this strange book with words that flicker across the pages and disappear-- Chane becomes acutely aware of the silence in the apartment whenever she rests her pen. This newcomer has encountered situations such as these before. Little reading material, company in the same house, an unfamiliar place; the outside world is as yet a mystery to her but here, she gets by.
Something comes to mind, hasn't exactly been weighing on her mind but it is a fact due some consideration. She has a roommate of whom she has caught glances and heard snippets of monologues and not yet spoken to. 'Spoken'.
In all the past places she had occupied with a new, unfamiliar group of people, she was never the first to speak. Either she was ignored as a tool, targeted, or swept off her feet-- sometimes literally-- by somebody with many, many words and a kind heart. The last case, she realises, is something to be thankful for. Choosing who is good to talk to is difficult when the only quality she judges in a person is the danger they pose.
From her place in the kitchen, where she has perched for the last while or so on a stool, she steps down to cross over to where she hears her roommate (male, she thinks) in the apartment, heels making neat clicks on the tiling until the floor turns to carpet. There is no protocol for how she announces her presence softly; she settles with printing her greeting into her book, standing several feet from the other, and presenting the pages before her. ]
Hello.
Something comes to mind, hasn't exactly been weighing on her mind but it is a fact due some consideration. She has a roommate of whom she has caught glances and heard snippets of monologues and not yet spoken to. 'Spoken'.
In all the past places she had occupied with a new, unfamiliar group of people, she was never the first to speak. Either she was ignored as a tool, targeted, or swept off her feet-- sometimes literally-- by somebody with many, many words and a kind heart. The last case, she realises, is something to be thankful for. Choosing who is good to talk to is difficult when the only quality she judges in a person is the danger they pose.
From her place in the kitchen, where she has perched for the last while or so on a stool, she steps down to cross over to where she hears her roommate (male, she thinks) in the apartment, heels making neat clicks on the tiling until the floor turns to carpet. There is no protocol for how she announces her presence softly; she settles with printing her greeting into her book, standing several feet from the other, and presenting the pages before her. ]
Hello.