ArchivedLogs:Oviraptor
| Oviraptor | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2014-12-14 yoink! (Followed by finding egg.) |
| Location
<NYC> {Geekhaus} - Harbor Commons - Lower East Side | |
There's an open airy feel to the floorplan of this unit. The door opens up into a wide expanse of common space that is not so much divided up into rooms as it is simply multipurposed. Ash-grey resin flooring underfoot runs up against the paler grey of the exposed stone in the walls; between the stone support there are wide floor-to-ceiling windows looking out at the river on one side of the home and the Commons' central yard on the other. Half of the space has a ceiling at one-floor height, though half of the space is left open with a balcony up on the second floor overlooking the living space below. A slatted stairway heads up to the second floor balcony; on the other side of the room, a fireman's pole running straight down the the basement provides a quicker way /down/. The wide open space here is combination living and dining room; near the windows there are a pair of couches and large armchair around a wide coffeetable; further off a steel-and-glass dining table is surrounded by eight tall black chairs. A full bathroom behind the stairway is done up in dark granite; the glass-doored bathtub/shower is rather expansively large. The kitchen is tucked off in back, beneath the half-height ceiling; in here the appliances and cabinets and shelving recessed into the wall are in brushed steel, wide grey sweeps of tempered glass countertops running around the edge of the room and a large central island holding stoves and oven and deep double sink. Adjacent to the kitchen, beneath the ceiling as well, is a sitting area structured largely around the enormous television against one wall, a wealth of video games for a number of consoles held on the shelves around the television. Crates and beanbags and one low futon folded against the floor are arranged in good viewing distance; opposite the television, a sturdy large pen built out of wood shrines a couch amid a sea of brightly colorful playpen balls. A door in one wall opens up to the apartment next door; a door opposite leads down to the basement. The speaker system is pumping out an odd orchestral piece heavy on violins, xylophones, and minor keys. In a still and quiet house on an as yet moonless night, it produces the effect of a very sedate horror film score. Curled on one of the beanbags with a notebook computer across her lap and a tablet in the crook of one elbow, Isra is fully absorbed in her work. A black NASA mug sits empty on a nearby milk crate next to a black camera bag. Her wings are draped around her shoulders and a Van Gogh TARDIS throw covers her legs, such a quick glance alone could not suffice to determine whether she is wearing any clothes at all. Shane is, at least, sans clothing, though that's hardly unusual around his house. His Friday night fight club wounds are healing well, down to just a mottling of reddened patches and darker blue spots against his skin. Against his neck his gills are fluttering rapidly, his claws already extended as he climbs up the back of the beanbag to fasten his teeth against Isra's horn. Scrapescrape scrape. Chewchewgnaw, sharp teeth grinding hard against the long sweep of bone. His claws have latched on to an upper spar of her wings, tinyshark clinging to the large gargoyle with a rumbling irritable growl snarled up in his throat. Isra's ears twitch on Shane's approach, but she does not look up from her screen(s), though her wing jerks reflexively when his talons dig in. Even so, she does not seem particularly concerned with the sharp, pointy shark pup perched on her shoulder. The notebook screen displays one portion of a vast orbital mechanics diagram, and the tablet a list of short answer questions. With a fainted resigned sigh--and this seemingly more at the interruption than any actual concern for pain or injury--she tilts her head and lets him Shane have at the horn. Snarlgrowlgrrrrrscrape. Shane's teeth continue to grind at Isra's horn a moment longer, claws tightening against the top of Isra's wing. After a moment longer he jumps down off of her, landing lightly beside the beanbag. The growling doesn't stop; he delivers a last sharp /nip/ to the edge of a wing. One clawed hand darts out, snatching at the camera bag to drape its strap around his neck, letting the bag dangle there as he drops to all fours and lopes swiftly back out the door towards his home, his growl fading off into the distance with him. | |
