вавилонский голландец
часть отверстия : / первый эпизод / фрагмент вступления / начальный отрывок
(!)
(Это нет Seabird - не пока…)
Some rooms seem to welcome you with open arms whilst others push you away;
"Private!" they yell. "No trespassing!"
Then there are the rooms that seem so cold and neutral that they look like a mask, daring you to peer behind the impersonal even as your belly tightens with cold anticipation at what you might find and you fight the urge to back away.
Such rooms do not resent your blundering into a space belonging to someone else - they don't care about personal retreats or anything like that. These rooms will never be used in such a way. They know it - and they don't care. Such rooms just hate because they can.
Her vision still blurred, the girl had flung out an arm to support herself on one of the plush royal blue wall cushions, but her fingers crooked in and her hand froze - I don't want to touch anything here, she realised. The walls cushions, so neat and dark and clean didn't want her to either. Nor did the gleaming chrome rails that ran the length of the curving walls. Looking down she could see the thick carpet only reluctantly bearing the traces of her booted feet.
She hadn't even asked herself yet where she was.
A wide space, cupped by the walls into an oval. Carpeted, yes - and empty.
There were tables and chairs heavy and dark , they gleamed.
Even at a distance her figure could be seen as a pale smudge of reflection, upside down.
(!)
(Это нет Seabird - не пока…)
Some rooms seem to welcome you with open arms whilst others push you away;
"Private!" they yell. "No trespassing!"
Then there are the rooms that seem so cold and neutral that they look like a mask, daring you to peer behind the impersonal even as your belly tightens with cold anticipation at what you might find and you fight the urge to back away.
Such rooms do not resent your blundering into a space belonging to someone else - they don't care about personal retreats or anything like that. These rooms will never be used in such a way. They know it - and they don't care. Such rooms just hate because they can.
Her vision still blurred, the girl had flung out an arm to support herself on one of the plush royal blue wall cushions, but her fingers crooked in and her hand froze - I don't want to touch anything here, she realised. The walls cushions, so neat and dark and clean didn't want her to either. Nor did the gleaming chrome rails that ran the length of the curving walls. Looking down she could see the thick carpet only reluctantly bearing the traces of her booted feet.
She hadn't even asked herself yet where she was.
A wide space, cupped by the walls into an oval. Carpeted, yes - and empty.
There were tables and chairs heavy and dark , they gleamed.
Even at a distance her figure could be seen as a pale smudge of reflection, upside down.