(no subject)

Jul 27, 2006 01:38

There is a Victorianesque gentleman in the nexus, dancing in slow, sad circles: a waltz with no partner. He is half-mumbling, half-singing to himself.

If zephyrs have sippers and zippers are slivers
And slivers have shivers all hither and thither,
And mother's a fibber with where withers whither
And whither the slither a sliver hath sload,
Then thiser and miss her and whether the fissure
Doth matter no better than bitterness growed,
And glowed like the glitter that sang in the heather
And whether the wanton the weatherman showed...

He looks around, seeming surprised to be here, though he has been for quite some time. He glances at his pocket-watch, which, to anyone standing by, appears to be running backwards, and has the numbers all out of order. Or to some it may look like the numbers are in perfect order, but they go up to sixteen. Or there are no numbers whatsoever. Or there are no hands. Or inside is nothing but a small, dead mouse.

He clicks it shut again and tucks it back into his pocket.

"What do you do when you can't find your way home?"

((OOC: SLEEP!!! Will continue tomorrow. Thanks all.))
Previous post Next post
Up