Re: log: dylan & max (soon to be daniel & lin too)
[As ever, Lin seemed to be insusceptible to shit like aging and good posture; shit, even stress. Bent into a 'c', (yk, if letters were made out of human bodies positioned in thin-cushioned chairs made of some blended fabric that eventually was kind of chafing, ngl,) he folded back the pages of his book, Advancing Research on Living and Fossil Cephalopods: Development and Evolution Form, Construction, and Function Taphonomy, Palaeoecology, Palaeobiogeography, Biostratigraphy, and Basin Analysis. An interesting and informative read from 1999, if you're interested in knowing, even if most of the 'interesting' part came from retrospect, an acknowledgment of the radical shift in the topography of the field, courtesy of the maturation and sophistication of world-changing technologies now made mundane.—Two high-topped sneakers jiggled to the rise and fall of the music that spiel'd out from the CD-playing radio tethered to the wall by Lin's feet.
Baroque, a work of Hasse's, Sonata V in E major, volume not too loud given the paperlike quality of the walls.
He'd spent the better part of the last few weeks in the room, cramped in the lap of the chair that was beginning to form to his ass, while Daniel played the dutiful part of asshole in recovery, but none of it seemed to get to him. Not the cafeteria food, not the 13 years of technology lost, not the horrible president. Maybe people weren't as tolerant of him now as they were in 2014, but, fuck, they were better than Victorian Londoners, and maybe that meant his bar of expectations was just set way too low to limbo under, but whatever. Psychically, mentally, he was in a way better space now than in a long time, whatever Daniel's suffering (lol).
So when the door opened and in walked Max, looking older and as unimpressed as ever, followed by who he assumed was Dylan, the boy smiled, unspooling from the chair and hopping to his feet in a display of his usual buggy energy.] Hey, sis. [He grinned, forcing Max into the envelope of a hug whether she wanted it or not, his book discarded in the sag of the chair.—Releasing her, all bone, he turned to Dylan, giving him a thorough look-over. His smile went a little mischievous as he puttered backwards, as if entirely aware of the space around him, where every single beeping machine was, to stand next to Daniel's bedside.] So you're Aubrey's stalkee. Welcome. Can I offer you lukewarm tap water in a paper cup patterned with—[He squinted at the stack of cups by the in-room sink. 100 miles an hour and his eyes zipped back to the pair.]—no identifiable flower. Maybe some hybrid daisy, if we're willing to suspend disbelief. Which I think we are, given the fact that we're all pawns and guests (question mark?) of a magical hotel.—Jk, not guests. That implies we can leave. Prisoners then. [Smile.]