ArchivedLogs:Ready
| Ready | |
|---|---|
| Dramatis Personae | 2015-10-14 "Oh. Oh. /Oh/-oh-oh." |
| Location
<NYC> Isra's apartment - Morningside Heights | |
The apartment takes up the first floor of a beautifully restored mid-century row house. A step up from the tiled entryway, a long bar counter separates the kitchen from the living room, which minimally furnished to take advantage of limited natural light. Simple and elegant brushed steel appliances and mission style furniture give the place a clean and austere appearance, but closer observation reveals no expense spared on any level. Very little artwork adorns the living room--only a few striking framed prints of galaxies and nebulae. The capacious master bedroom can be seen through a door left ajar. Another door conceals a small bathroom, and beside it a hallway leading to the utility area near the back entrance. Currently the island may still be without power. The Commons, still without power. But this far north has escaped the blackout, and so it's Isra's lucky apartment that is currently littered with empty bottles of Bawls, empty takeout containers, mugs of tea. There's been a lot of caffeine here the past couple days; not a lot of sleep. At the moment, Dusk -- a liiittle pale, a little shadowed under his eyes, a little drooping -- is draped on a couch. Absently tossing a squishy heart-shaped stressball up and down in one hand. A laptop is on his lap, his headphones on his head, softly glowing lights flickering in changing colours in time to the music playing through them. There's a pair of terminals open onscreen, though he's taking -- /been/ taking -- a break from looking at them. Squiiish. On the floor nearby, B has been nested belly-down in a pile of pillows. The taptaptaptap from her keyboard has been steady background drone underneath the music for a while. Her headphones aren't nearly so colorful. Her bare toes tap downward into one of the pillows -- probably ruining its upholstering with her claws. It's been -- maybe hours, maybe most of a day by now since the last time ze /said/ anything, but finally ze breaks the stillness with a pillow tossed Dusk's way. Hir eyes are very -- very -- wide when ze looks over at him, hir gills fluttering rapidly. "Oh. Oh. /Oh/-oh-oh." One hand flutters, waving him over to look at -- not much, really, there's mirroring terminals on hir screen, long lines of text upon text. "Mmmph." Dusk bats at the pillow with one hand, knocking it aside to the floor. He peers first down at his screen -- then over at B. What's in his expression isn't surprise so much as relief, a slight slackening of the exhaustion in his face. Then satisfaction. He sets his laptop aside and rolls down off the couch, thudding to his knees to crawl over to the sharkpup. "Shit. We ready?" B scrubs a hand over hir face. "I -- don't think I'm ever going to be ready," she admits with a small dip of hir head. "But /this/ is. Let's call Regan." | |
