Dr. Archer | The Invisible Man (sneakingaround) wrote in bellumlogs, @ 2010-05-24 18:58:00 |
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Entry tags: | invisible man, rapunzel |
Who: Isobel and Archer
What: Checking in
Where: 905
When: Approximately 20 minutes after Archer and his fish friends leave the bowl
Warnings: Inability to express friendship and wet hair.
Staring into the mirror, Archer plucked at the neck of his faded green T-shirt. It had been his brother's a few years prior, and it probably should have been thrown out. There had once been a design on the front, something vibrant and yellow, and all that remained was the dark shadow of the adhesive that had held the design on. Its size emphasized the hollows in his neck and the prominence of his clavicle, dwarfing the ropey noodles that were his arms. But it was a comfortable shirt, and more importantly, it was dry.
He had changed into dry clothing immediately after returning to apartment 102, but now that he had the time to think, he began to wonder about the rest of the building. It was unlikely that he, the two women, and Nick were the only four to be put through this sort of test. So what had happened to the others? Were they back yet, or were their tests on the way? As he pondered this, he came upon a realization.
Isobel was probably involved in one of these activities as well.
His lips pressed together in a thin line as he raked his spindly fingers through his hair. A large part of him wanted to simply forget about her and go to sleep - after all, it was late, and he was far too tired from all that swimming nonsense to continue working for the night. But there was a small bit of him, tucked back in the far corners of his mind, that demanded he go and at least try to investigate. He reasoned with himself. Perhaps just a forum message, a simple few lines inquiring about her well-being. He reasoned back that she had previously said that was detached and isolating.
Instead of wondering why the hell he cared about what she thought, Archer adjusted his glasses before grabbing his keys and leaving his apartment. After locking the door behind him, he darted up the stairs, trying to ignore the burning in his lungs as he finally reached the ninth floor. Face flushed brilliant red from all this activity - he had gotten more exercise tonight than he normally did in a month - he paused to catch his breath before turning to the door of 906. Clearing his throat and pushing a lock of damp hair from his forehead, he rapped smartly on the door before standing to wait for a response.