RP: This looks familiar.
Date: February 28th, 2005
Characters: Willis Travers, Vincent Crabbe
Location: Streets of Stoatshead Hill
Status: Semi-Public (it being an open street, and all)
Summary: Willis is wandering, runs into a Mr. Crabbe. HRM.
Completion: Complete
Some days, Willis wondered what the point of getting out of bed was. Other days, he woke up to find that he hadn't actually bothered making it to the bed. The couch was just more convenient. Hell, after a long day and night, anywhere on hand would be. He'd spent years sleeping on concrete, then on the side of the road. Just having a house opened up a fucking paradise. And so when he'd woken up on the floor, he wasn't surprised by his situation so much as by the sound of something tapping at a window.
"...hell?" He'd sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his head and wondering for a moment when the place'd become so hazy. Oh, all right. There it came, and the world was swimming into some sort of focus. Not that there was much to see. Save at the window, and there was a... Huh. An owl. What the goddamned hell was an owl doing there?
It'd turned out to be good enough news--well, very good news, maybe, sure--despite his cursing as he'd managed to pull himself off of the floor. Damned bird had just sort of stared at him, and for a while he might've strangled the thing. He didn't like owls. Not worth the trouble, and he didn't like their eyes, at all. Then he'd seen the letter and figured out who the owl'd come from, and he'd forgotten the fucking bird for a while.
He'd thrown the letter aside somewhere in the house and left it behind, but he knew the news well enough. An owl from Siri, always a good sign. Sounded like that bastard that thought he held her was going to be out for awhile, and she planned on coming to Stoatshead for a while. Good by him. Hell, it'd been enough to put him into a good mood for however long the day'd been thus far.
Even now, he wasn't feeling entirely aggravated. His back was sore, sure. He'd fucking fallen asleep on his flask; not the best of ways to go. Well. It happened, anyway. And he was rather enjoying walking around the town, glaring when he wanted. Funny as hell to see the ones that'd scatter away, sidestep or even wince. He didn't have much of a purpose, not now, but he was sure to find something if he walked around long enough. Nice thing about living in a place like this, there was always something amusing, maybe a bit of trouble, to find.
Characters: Willis Travers, Vincent Crabbe
Location: Streets of Stoatshead Hill
Status: Semi-Public (it being an open street, and all)
Summary: Willis is wandering, runs into a Mr. Crabbe. HRM.
Completion: Complete
Some days, Willis wondered what the point of getting out of bed was. Other days, he woke up to find that he hadn't actually bothered making it to the bed. The couch was just more convenient. Hell, after a long day and night, anywhere on hand would be. He'd spent years sleeping on concrete, then on the side of the road. Just having a house opened up a fucking paradise. And so when he'd woken up on the floor, he wasn't surprised by his situation so much as by the sound of something tapping at a window.
"...hell?" He'd sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his head and wondering for a moment when the place'd become so hazy. Oh, all right. There it came, and the world was swimming into some sort of focus. Not that there was much to see. Save at the window, and there was a... Huh. An owl. What the goddamned hell was an owl doing there?
It'd turned out to be good enough news--well, very good news, maybe, sure--despite his cursing as he'd managed to pull himself off of the floor. Damned bird had just sort of stared at him, and for a while he might've strangled the thing. He didn't like owls. Not worth the trouble, and he didn't like their eyes, at all. Then he'd seen the letter and figured out who the owl'd come from, and he'd forgotten the fucking bird for a while.
He'd thrown the letter aside somewhere in the house and left it behind, but he knew the news well enough. An owl from Siri, always a good sign. Sounded like that bastard that thought he held her was going to be out for awhile, and she planned on coming to Stoatshead for a while. Good by him. Hell, it'd been enough to put him into a good mood for however long the day'd been thus far.
Even now, he wasn't feeling entirely aggravated. His back was sore, sure. He'd fucking fallen asleep on his flask; not the best of ways to go. Well. It happened, anyway. And he was rather enjoying walking around the town, glaring when he wanted. Funny as hell to see the ones that'd scatter away, sidestep or even wince. He didn't have much of a purpose, not now, but he was sure to find something if he walked around long enough. Nice thing about living in a place like this, there was always something amusing, maybe a bit of trouble, to find.