Schorin (![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} dedsexywraith) wrote in ![[info]](http://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} lostcity,@ 2008-04-16 14:47:00 |
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Pleased to meet you. Hope you've guess my name...
Who: Schorin, Merry, Rakka, OPEN
What: An opportunity to get to know my character (and some of the others here). Nothing plot specific.
When: March 21th, 2008
Where: One of the cell rooms in the brig.
Rating: TBA
Status: Incomplete
Notes: THE DATE HAS BEEN CHANGED TO BETTER CONTINUITY AND A PLOT HAS BEEN DEVISED.
Schorin had been in the cell over three months now, surviving only by Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard's plan in keeping him fed. Each time he would offer some information he thought might be useful and in return they kept him fed. He was unsure if he had gained any trust or not. All he knew is that they would not let him die and they would not let him go. He could only assume that if he had earned trust completely they would have let him go not worrying that he knew the exact location of their second hand city. But they were not that foolish. Truth be told, if Schorin were caught by members of his fellow species the first thing he would do to insure his own survival would be to offer all the information he knew about these humans. If they were smart, they would keep him here forever.
Right now, though, all Schorin knew was that the cell was getting very old. A discarded copy of a book the humans called "War and Peace" was flopped in a corner having been read a few times through. The written language took a while to understand but he did confirm that it was based on sounds as apposed to a pictorial or symbolic language. From there it was a simple matter of comparing the regularity of certain words spoken to him with the regularity of those same written words and assuming the rest. It took him a good two days to finally realize letter sounds of the word "the" but after that had been discovered the rest came out very easily and within a week he'd been able to decipher most all of the obese book. He reread it again when he'd figured out the words. That all had only lasted him a few weeks, though.
He'd discarded his boots a while ago "making himself at home," as it were. He thought he caught some disdainful looks from his guardians, but couldn't find it in his heart to care. The ground of the cell was cool against his feet. The feeling of it kept him grounded.
He discovered that if he bore down hard enough the sheath in his finger could scratch a thin line in the floor of the cell, barely scratching the surface but scoring it just enough to see. He practiced writing in the corner of the cell and when that grew tiring he started to divide the cell up into the golden mean, a process in which the rectangular cell was split by the thin line into a square and another rectangle which was, consequently, split again into a square and rectangle and etc. in a mathematical equation which went on for eternity. Currently he was drawing lines in the middle of the room trying to finish his geometrical artistry as small as he could make it.
Who: Schorin, Merry, Rakka, OPEN
What: An opportunity to get to know my character (and some of the others here). Nothing plot specific.
When: March 21th, 2008
Where: One of the cell rooms in the brig.
Rating: TBA
Status: Incomplete
Notes: THE DATE HAS BEEN CHANGED TO BETTER CONTINUITY AND A PLOT HAS BEEN DEVISED.
Schorin had been in the cell over three months now, surviving only by Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard's plan in keeping him fed. Each time he would offer some information he thought might be useful and in return they kept him fed. He was unsure if he had gained any trust or not. All he knew is that they would not let him die and they would not let him go. He could only assume that if he had earned trust completely they would have let him go not worrying that he knew the exact location of their second hand city. But they were not that foolish. Truth be told, if Schorin were caught by members of his fellow species the first thing he would do to insure his own survival would be to offer all the information he knew about these humans. If they were smart, they would keep him here forever.
Right now, though, all Schorin knew was that the cell was getting very old. A discarded copy of a book the humans called "War and Peace" was flopped in a corner having been read a few times through. The written language took a while to understand but he did confirm that it was based on sounds as apposed to a pictorial or symbolic language. From there it was a simple matter of comparing the regularity of certain words spoken to him with the regularity of those same written words and assuming the rest. It took him a good two days to finally realize letter sounds of the word "the" but after that had been discovered the rest came out very easily and within a week he'd been able to decipher most all of the obese book. He reread it again when he'd figured out the words. That all had only lasted him a few weeks, though.
He'd discarded his boots a while ago "making himself at home," as it were. He thought he caught some disdainful looks from his guardians, but couldn't find it in his heart to care. The ground of the cell was cool against his feet. The feeling of it kept him grounded.
He discovered that if he bore down hard enough the sheath in his finger could scratch a thin line in the floor of the cell, barely scratching the surface but scoring it just enough to see. He practiced writing in the corner of the cell and when that grew tiring he started to divide the cell up into the golden mean, a process in which the rectangular cell was split by the thin line into a square and another rectangle which was, consequently, split again into a square and rectangle and etc. in a mathematical equation which went on for eternity. Currently he was drawing lines in the middle of the room trying to finish his geometrical artistry as small as he could make it.