Room 418, Lunchtimeish and onwards
Nov. 6th, 2006 01:50 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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!]
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!]
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