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[Feb. 27th, 2011|11:59 pm] |
*Wonders if Marian was onto something when she suggested doing something to get her mind off crazy sex dreams.*
*Figures that she probably owes Kirin an apology for being subjected to her family's insanity at the festival anyway.*
*Rifles through her father's rolodex (he never got the hang of mobile phone address books) until she finds his number and dials.* |
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[Jan. 24th, 2011|08:26 pm] |
| [ | Tags | | | &aule&vana, &aule&yavanna, &este&irmo, &este&marende, &manwe&varda, &namo&nienna, &namo&quellen, &telimektar&vana, @mandos, @menegroth, aule, este, irmo, manwe, marende, namo, nienna, quellen, telimektar, ulmo, vana, varda, yavanna | ] |
*while Vána is relatively subdued by Aulë and Telimektar, steps forwards from the shadows in Vána's workshop* I propose we re-locate. The Children are desperately noisy and this is no place for a judgment.
*projects a clear image of the Halls of Mandos - not the shadowy caverns where numberless ex-fëar mumble and stumble through to the hereafter, or the great tapestries of Vairë, or the Freezer of Ignominy but rather the Great Hall, with seats for each Vala (apart from the accused)*
*speeds his way there, expecting the others to do the same* |
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[Jan. 2nd, 2011|08:42 pm] |
| [ | Tags | | | &almarian&pharazon, &almarian&veantur, &malbeth&palantir, &malbeth&quellen, &palantir&pharazon, &palantir&zimraphel, &pharazon&veantur, @ossiriand, almarian, malbeth, palantir, pharazon, quellen, veantur, zimraphel | ] |
| [ | Mood |
| |  bored | ] |
*Hangs around on the edge of a marquee that's been set up for her dad's Eru worship...thing..*
*Completely buttons up her coat (which is plain white, of course, anything else would be "unseemly" apparently) against the cold, knowing better than to complain about why they have to hold this thing outdoors, in winter. That way lies another lecture about how in his day they held it up on the top of a mountain so this is nothing.*
*Silently watches the faithful file in, wondering how many are actually faithful, Númenórean god-botherers or how many are just here out of curiosity or because they heard the rumours about the Rómennan tradition of getting completely smashed afterwards.* |
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[Dec. 3rd, 2009|08:42 pm] |
*does see a lot of unusual people in his line of work, of course, and has certainly landed himself in many a strange situation as a result (buying a blue pacifier for a serial rapist-murderer, and then watching him carve notches into it as part of the retelling, definitely ranks)*
*which may be why he isn't too terribly surprised to find himself relaxing in a deli down the street from the Hammer, his lunch long since finished, his attention now focused on the strange stranger who's somehow joined him for coffee*
*absently traces the rim of his mug* *curiously* You said you photograph people, most often? What sorts of people do you look for? |
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[Nov. 2nd, 2009|07:07 pm] |
*following a somewhat useful session with his star witness number one ("somewhat useful" in that nothing new was presented, but a great many things were confirmed), has decided to move on with star witness number two (or perhaps he should be considered number one, after all)*
*folds his hands neatly atop his open files—Amir and Samantha, as before, and a third detailing the damage to the Houses themselves* *directly and sincerely, as ever* ...you may find some of my questions difficult to answer, but I would ask that you do so as honestly and as completely as possible. A great deal of this project hinges on the details. |
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[Oct. 28th, 2009|07:43 pm] |
*heads into the House of Hammer after a long, long morning spent poring over his board and reams of notes* *wanted to be extra prepared for his appointment today—it's one of the few interviews he's conducting himself*
*checks in and goes straight to the small, unadorned office he's been using during his tenure at the Hammer* *has kept the furnishing down to a desk and two chairs, knowing he would eventually need a good interview hotbox*
*drags the extra chair over and situates it across the desk from his own, then sits down and starts rifling through his briefcase, glancing over the pertinent points one more time* *mutters to himself* Star witness, Kirin. Don't blow it. |
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[Sep. 29th, 2009|09:03 pm] |
*sits atop a streetlamp somewhere in Gondolin, swinging her feet and watching the people moving about below in all of their time-driven hurry (born)(breathing)(dying)*
*has been all over Beleriand in the past day-or-minute on her lord's business, but where her Kirin is, there she will return* *is pleased with all of the progress Kirin is making, even if it is very (C)hildish progress* *he's so very bright for a young one* |
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[Apr. 3rd, 2009|07:09 pm] |
*has spent the last three weeks orienting himself in his new city, which, though large and busy, is quite different from Grand Fork* *for one thing, Gondolin is far brighter and greener by day; for another, there's much less chance of murder by night*
*thus far, has briefly visited several sites related to the project he'll be collaborating on (and unofficially heading up), including the Redthorn apartment complex, Ondolindë Concrete, and the building formerly known as PP&F HQ* *hasn't even begun to break down the massive amount of information he's accumulating into a plan of action yet, but wants to get a feel for the arena before he starts looking for details* *oh yes, and he should probably unpack and move into his new flat properly at some point, too*
*is taking the scenic route home when he notes he's going to drive right past the House of the Fountain* *on a whim, decides to stop by for a brief lookaround (will be spending a good deal of time focusing on that House, after all)* |
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[Jan. 24th, 2009|12:55 am] |
*wends her way above the streets of Grand Fork West, toeing along powerlines and clotheslines, skirting the rain gutters and rooftops, drifting with the odd updraft here and there, taking in the relative quiet of a city asleep* (*and Qualmë will be busy tonight, it seems—so many lifelights burning down to the wick's end, measured in seconds and minutes instead of days or years*)
*treads unseen, of course, but she cannot help noticing the lone man shuffling down the alleyway (a quick little boy with missing front teeth and unruly hair)(a stooped old codger with fewer teeth and no hair at all); the teenaged girls lighting each others' cigarettes in the empty lot (innocent at birth, so lovely and new)(their beauty fades, stripped by age and the poison they breathe); the young couple driving home, their thoughts trained on the barely-there belly-bump (and they vanish into flames and smoke, their lives uprooted before they began); and she would mourn them all, perhaps, if she were anything more or less than a mere servant of Time*
*eventually alights on a familiar window sill and fades through the glass* *steps down with hardly a whisper to disturb the curtains* *glances around* Oh. You really are moving then, my Kirin? |
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[Nov. 13th, 2008|12:01 am] |
*putters around in his kitchen, whipping up some quick dinner before he dives into the evening's work*
*is having to force himself to actually pay attention to the cooking part* (*highly doubts the old "I had forty-seven other things on my mind" excuse would impress the insurance company if he were to start a fire (even though it would be close to the truth)*)
*snags the bottle of Worcestershire sauce from the fridge and, as usual, is reminded of the serial burglar who made a habit of stealing the mustard from each home he robbed (oh, that was an interesting sight in the courtroom, those eighteen bottles of mustard—and the odd ketchup from the house that didn't have any mustard)* *smiles a bit to himself* Seven years and counting, Kirin. When's that going to stop being funny? |
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working
calm