Room 418, Lunchtimeish and onwards

[notajar]

Door is writing a letter. Of sorts.

de Carabas:

Since early October, I have sold shiny discs, learned Crow for extra credit, woke up to find my roommate had become a puppet, sat on the roof with a knight, a puppet, several policepeople and a girl it's best not to annoy, learned how to recognize evil robots, failed at kissing, but won at instigation of same, mispronounced important bits in Crow, drew on walls, finally understood this Space Battles thing then ironically learned about warless races, been visited by certain dodgy people, shared a bed with a King, learned Cat and wrote a romance novel about pie, sent e-mail about how I can't send you e-mail, asked for help finding something I can send you, went to a party with a frog, toasted stolen leftovers, explained Velvets and discovered electric blankets, trick-or-treated, eaten pancakes, and received a robot pigeon.

I trust you keep well?

~Lady Door


__

....yeah, right. Door snickers, trying to imagine him caring about that sort of thing, then writes on a small slip of paper.

de Carabas:

The pigeon's name is Chimney, but don't bother trying to talk to it. Or feeding it, unless it's messages. Only you and I can open the compartment, and presumably Bridge, who made it for me. News, if there is any, should be secure within it; the message-tube obviously isn't.

I remain safe and well; I would wish you likewise on the second but would never presume to accuse you of the first.

~Door



She shuts the piece of paper inside the compartment, slips a short, cryptic message about how to open it into the silver tube on the bird's leg, then opens the window. Opens the window, rather, reaching for the city-smell high above London instead of the salty air of Fandom Island. It's only a smaller door, after all; an opening is an opening, and it's certainly a big enough door for a pigeon to pass through.

//de Carabas// she says to it, cooing softly and stroking the top of its head from old habit, despite a mechanical bird presumably not caring about that sort of thing.

//Chimney!// it chirps in a tone half enthusiastic, half impatient, and flutters off into the air.

Door rather hopes that was a yes, as she closes the window again, then on a whim, opens it the regular way, letting in the fresh, cool island breeze.

[The door's closed, but the post's open!]

Comments

[bookyeve.livejournal.com]

Evie had finished off most of her homework, and tomorrow's trip to the Alexandria Museum didn't require any preparation for the Archaeology Club. So she went wandering. She knocked on Door's door.

"Door? It's Evie."

[notajar]

"Hello - come in, it's not locked!" Door calls from the windowsill.

[bookyeve.livejournal.com]

Evie nearly skipped in, saying, "I got to sing in class today! How is your Monday going? Aren't you glad classes have started again?"

[notajar]

Door laughs. "I am, a bit. Though I've only the one class on Mondays and it's not until last period."

[bookyeve.livejournal.com]

"Still, I found myself at awfully loose ends after Halloween." Evie smiled and curled up on the floor, cocking her head. "And now there's 'Thanksgiving' to look forward to. Americans have quite a few holidays, don't they?"

[notajar]

"Not just Americans - yesterday was Guy Fawkes Day," Door points out, sitting cross-legged at the foot of her bed. "Someone was setting off fireworks out in town, though I couldn't tell where."

[bookyeve.livejournal.com]

"And I missed it!" Evie looked sad. "Ah well. Next year, then. Are you staying here throughout the term?" Which was as close as Evie could ask about Door's holiday plans, without mentioning her family.

[notajar]

"I hadn't thought about having to go somewhere." Door props her chin on her hand. "I suppose I am staying, unless they make us leave - it's not safe to go home."

[bookyeve.livejournal.com]

"I'm going back to London. 1916." Evie pulled at the cuffs of her blouse. "Which we just covered in History class. I'm finding the idea unsettling." She sighed. "But you're welcome to come with me? Although it's not all that safe either."

[notajar]

"I...thank you," Door says, a bit taken aback. Then, thoughtfully, "Not so safe - yes, you're at war, then, aren't you."

[bookyeve.livejournal.com]

"Yes. Then." Evie hugged herself. "Even know how it ended here, it isn't something I want to go home and face. Perhaps especially knowing how it ended."

[notajar]

"Sometimes it seems as if there's always a war," Door says, glancing out the window, but perhaps not to the view that's actually there. "Walter's from...thirty years later, perhaps? And his London's not safe either."