Such things should be dealt with with poise and rationality.
Who; doesnotbrood and tereteindahouse
What; Freaked out from being lost in the forest then returning home to chaos, Junpei fled to an abandoned house. Fenris should really learn to make his places look lived in.
Where; Fenris' house, at the end of a winding lane
When; Friday, Midday
Rating; eh, PG
Status; Closed;;Ongoing
The madness that was infecting the Underworld of late was confusing the ex-slave more than he'd like to admit. The scenery itself had changed as well, but he was glad to see the abandoned home he'd chosen for himself had remained untouched. He kept his device close at hand should anything requiring his attention happen, but he set up in a bedroom, lit by candle-light to begin his daily vigil as given him by Mitsuru. There were many things in the novel he sat down to try reading he didn't understand: there were horrible family members and a spoiled cousin, which he understood, but several things he did not. What precisely were a 'train' or a 'telephone'? Such things were lost on him.
Still, He couldn't help but sympathize with the boy, locked away, treated no better than he had been as a slave, dressed in rags and given nothing but table scraps. It was a strange mythology the author had built, and rather entrancing, really. He could understand the allure of finding out after years of oppressive and servitude that you were meant for something more.
Entranced as he was by the story, it was a small wonder he was oblivious of anything else that was going on in the rest of the house.
What; Freaked out from being lost in the forest then returning home to chaos, Junpei fled to an abandoned house. Fenris should really learn to make his places look lived in.
Where; Fenris' house, at the end of a winding lane
When; Friday, Midday
Rating; eh, PG
Status; Closed;;Ongoing
The madness that was infecting the Underworld of late was confusing the ex-slave more than he'd like to admit. The scenery itself had changed as well, but he was glad to see the abandoned home he'd chosen for himself had remained untouched. He kept his device close at hand should anything requiring his attention happen, but he set up in a bedroom, lit by candle-light to begin his daily vigil as given him by Mitsuru. There were many things in the novel he sat down to try reading he didn't understand: there were horrible family members and a spoiled cousin, which he understood, but several things he did not. What precisely were a 'train' or a 'telephone'? Such things were lost on him.
Still, He couldn't help but sympathize with the boy, locked away, treated no better than he had been as a slave, dressed in rags and given nothing but table scraps. It was a strange mythology the author had built, and rather entrancing, really. He could understand the allure of finding out after years of oppressive and servitude that you were meant for something more.
Entranced as he was by the story, it was a small wonder he was oblivious of anything else that was going on in the rest of the house.