you cannot map the ways of divinity;primrosellaDecember 3 2010, 06:14:57 UTC
[True to her word, it doesn't take long for Rosella to go through the Warehouse and put together a quick parcel of necessities for Nigel. She's lived there so long and spent so much time organizing and cleaning--since that was part of her arrangement with Sam on her first day, cooking and cleaning in exchange for a place to stay--that she knows right where everything is almost before she puts down the device to go looking for them. She does hesitate a little over the matter of the shoes, because that means going in Sam's room to unearth a pair of his, and she's simply not ready yet to start loaning out any of his possessions, so in the end she settle's for a set of Duo's old work boots and hopes for the best. Those, along with a snug gray sweatshirt, get wrapped up in a black wool cloak and bundled into a neat package; a small bag of chocolate chip cookies goes into her skirt pocket. And then, wrapping her own red cloak around her shoulders, she sets off for the garage with a rapid step and a cheerful air
( ... )
you cannot map the ways of divinity;implementedDecember 3 2010, 06:29:40 UTC
[ It's been a few hours since Nigel took that fateful step down to the basement and into the City. He'd spent the first of those hours idly pouring over Saya's tools, noting the obsessive precision in which they were stored, categorized and handled. His attention to detail meant it was easy for Nigel to be occupied by the simplest things for hours on end. But he wasn't particularly fond of machines and gadgetry and he so quickly tired of the exercise, turning to his network device instead. It was during that time that he'd found Rosella, or rather Rosella had found him. Upon realizing who she was (and more importantly what she was), Nigel had felt a familiar feeling begin to trickle down his back all along his spine. Destiny had lead him to Jack, had it lead him here as well? It's a question he considers in both the front and the back of his mind as he sits on the floor of the garage, back pressed against one wall, tediously pour through old posts for any sign of Jack
( ... )
you cannot map the ways of divinity;primrosellaDecember 3 2010, 07:02:15 UTC
[Really, Rosella isn't exactly sure what she was picturing the new arrival to look like when she was speaking with him. Handsome, certainly, since he seemed rather charming (if a bit odd), and charming people generally turned out to be handsome ones, too, just like nice people generally turned out to be beautiful. And then of course there was the accent, which only reinforced the thought that he'd a kind-faced, good-looking young man with a lovely smile, as thoughts of other friends with the same accent mingled together in her head. He'd be rather the quiet sort, to be sure, and perhaps the sort that always looks a bit out of place in a room (since he sounded a bit shy on the Network), but generally friendly once one managed to persuade him to open up a little.
What she wasn't expecting, however, is what she inevitably gets: a tousle of dark hair and a wickedly familiar face, one that she's spent the past few days convincing herself was nothing more than a nightmare, nothing more than a horrible, horrible fantasy
( ... )
you cannot map the ways of divinity;implementedDecember 3 2010, 15:26:10 UTC
[ There is no denying that Nigel is handsome, though he would never describe himself as such. Well-defined features, a strong jaw and eyes that are capable of staring in the most predatory way from beneath an equally strong brow. It's the predatory part that no doubt rings the strongest bell -- the way he glares the way an animal would glare, the way his lip can curl when pushed towards contempt. There's very little of that in Nigel's demeanor at the moment, however, as he carefully tucks his communication device away and stares after the now-shut door and the toppled bounty beyond it.
When he approaches, he takes his time, not rushed or hurried the way any normal person would be. Other people would look to provide aid, some sort of assistance, but Nigel is simply there to satisfy his own curiosities. Eventually, he hand finds the brace of the glass door and he pushes upon it with one hand, making it swing open wide so that a blustery rush of cold air swirls past him into the garage
( ... )
Baby doll I recognize, you're a hideous thing inside;byweavinglivesDecember 7 2010, 23:35:23 UTC
[She's so quiet, when she moves, slips into the warehouse kitchen. The kitchen itself is spacious and large, accommodating, because it is only a space that Saya once turned into a kitchen, a warehouse room, enormous and cavernous. She tilts her head.
The Network is full of interesting things, but her interest lies in reaction, not in action. People are dying. What does Nigel Colbie think of this?]
Baby doll I recognize, you're a hideous thing inside;implementedDecember 7 2010, 23:42:29 UTC
[ Since arriving, Nigel has occupied himself with the collection of things. It seems, perhaps, an odd thing to do straight away but it took priority over meeting new people or even familiarizing himself with his new environment. No, instead, he searched for books, acquired notebooks and rulers and implements with which to write and sketch. More often than not he can be found at the kitchen table with some unmarked tome laid out before him and his hand busily flipping through its pages, pouring over its contents.
But not today. Today, Nigel is sitting in the chair he usually sits in, his body drawn in on itself as he hunches over his network device, placed on the table in front of him. He's watching the 'games', of course.
Baby doll I recognize, you're a hideous thing inside;byweavinglivesDecember 7 2010, 23:44:52 UTC
[She leans over him, still quiet. It is a spider thing, her silence, along with her lack of scent, a hunter thing. But she is not hunting him. Instead she speaks, vaguely from above, quiet]
Baby doll I recognize, you're a hideous thing inside;implementedDecember 7 2010, 23:59:43 UTC
[ Her voice is enough to turn his attention away from the silently winking monitor (sound wasn't important, did it really matter what they said?). Nigel doesn't seem to be bothered or care by how close that brings his face to hers, though he is momentarily distracted by the tendons of her throat and the slenderness of her neck. He stares at it as he speaks and then returns back to his device. ]
Spectacles are meant to be watched, aren't they? Though the gladiatorial games were meant to appease the discontented masses. [ Nigel lifts the device so that Saya can watch as a contestant is run through with a spear. ] Are you appeased, Saya?
][under the tree][byweavinglivesDecember 26 2010, 01:54:10 UTC
[A small box with a key and a map through the warehouse, to a room previously unused. The room has now been outfitted for you, Nigel. Merry Christmas.]
voicemail; | backdated to 1/21primrosellaJanuary 22 2011, 07:46:58 UTC
Hello...Nigel, it's--this is Rosella, I'm sorry to bother you but I'm not quite...sure where you are at the moment and I do hope you're not busy, but I just...wondered where you are, that's all, and if you'd planned to, er...be home tonight.
[Pause.]
Not that you ought to stay in if you already had plans, of course! I'd only, er...wondered. If someon--if you'd be around. [She clears her throat.] Yes, well, I do hope I haven't bothered you, and...well, I hope you have a lovely day as well, of course.
Well no one told me about her how many people cried, but it's too late to say you're sorry;byweavinglivesFebruary 13 2011, 18:15:56 UTC
It's not that Saya is in her sylie - in fact, she isn't there very often. It's simply a space that she doesn't feel the need to constantly patrol, and she can't get anything but sleep and eating there done anyway. So it's not that she's in there.
In fact, she's not in the Warehouse at all, but when someone enters her sylie, she knows almost immediately. It's her space, sacred, special, somewhere that is wholly hers, and a person in there, finding it, is something that she is aware of completely.
That isn't to say she doesn't expect someone in there.
In fact, she's been waiting for that feeling, like a splinter under the nail, but she hasn't been dreading it: no, she's been waiting with a kind of perverse relish.
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What she wasn't expecting, however, is what she inevitably gets: a tousle of dark hair and a wickedly familiar face, one that she's spent the past few days convincing herself was nothing more than a nightmare, nothing more than a horrible, horrible fantasy ( ... )
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When he approaches, he takes his time, not rushed or hurried the way any normal person would be. Other people would look to provide aid, some sort of assistance, but Nigel is simply there to satisfy his own curiosities. Eventually, he hand finds the brace of the glass door and he pushes upon it with one hand, making it swing open wide so that a blustery rush of cold air swirls past him into the garage ( ... )
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The Network is full of interesting things, but her interest lies in reaction, not in action. People are dying. What does Nigel Colbie think of this?]
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But not today. Today, Nigel is sitting in the chair he usually sits in, his body drawn in on itself as he hunches over his network device, placed on the table in front of him. He's watching the 'games', of course.
And, perhaps, he's smiling. ]
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Are you interested, then?
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Spectacles are meant to be watched, aren't they? Though the gladiatorial games were meant to appease the discontented masses. [ Nigel lifts the device so that Saya can watch as a contestant is run through with a spear. ] Are you appeased, Saya?
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[Pause.]
Not that you ought to stay in if you already had plans, of course! I'd only, er...wondered. If someon--if you'd be around. [She clears her throat.] Yes, well, I do hope I haven't bothered you, and...well, I hope you have a lovely day as well, of course.
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Hello?
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Are you alright?
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In fact, she's not in the Warehouse at all, but when someone enters her sylie, she knows almost immediately. It's her space, sacred, special, somewhere that is wholly hers, and a person in there, finding it, is something that she is aware of completely.
That isn't to say she doesn't expect someone in there.
In fact, she's been waiting for that feeling, like a splinter under the nail, but she hasn't been dreading it: no, she's been waiting with a kind of perverse relish.
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