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[Mar. 10th, 2008|01:08 pm] |
Who: Sarah Ellis & OPEN
What: Arrival
Status: Unfinished; open
Sarah had been going to do her homework like she'd been instructed (commanded, the rebellious voice in the back of her head hissed), but when she stepped into her room, the surroundings shifted dramatically til where she was standing was not her bedroom at all but a rather vast and odd looking stretch of hallway. Frozen at the entrance to the seemingly endless walkway, Sarah turned and looked behind her, distressed to see that the door to her bedroom had been replaced by a majestic archway. This wasn't right on some many levels. Her logical mind was insisting that there was something terribly wrong here while the part the had been craving freedom from as long as she could remember was telling the logical half of her consciousness to shut up and enjoy the vacation. Worrying her bottom lip, Sarah soon found the one dilemma that seemed to come woven in with this vacation.
She had no idea which way she was supposed to go, and there wasn't anyone in sight who might be able to point her in the proper direction. |
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| exploring the ground floor |
[Mar. 10th, 2008|06:45 pm] |
Who: John Casey, Rory Gilmore, Open.
((continued directly from the post "Falling down the rabbit hole"))
"It sounds nice," John told her honestly. The place she described was looking like a wonderful place in his head. Much better than some of the places he'd lived.
The pair exited the kitchen by a door that John assumed led to the rest of the ground floor, rather than going back up the stairs they'd come from. The first room they entered outside the kitchen was the dining room. Not a formal dining room, but it was beautiful all the same.
"Wow," he almost whispered.
The room was decorated in a deep red, the color balanced by sunlight from the setting sun pouring in through the window, and the flawless white of the dishes on the table. There were eight place settings around the table, each seemingly waiting for an occupant to feed. Again, John wondered where the owners of the house were.
John ran his hand over the smooth wood of the table, feeling the nicks and gouges from many years of use. There were some spots that were shinier than others, from so many people resting their arms while they ate, and other places where he could almost imagine he could see writing etched onto the surface from kids doing their homework on the table. It was an old-fashioned table, to be sure, but it was loved and cared for. There was not a speck of dust to be seen, and the table gleamed from a fresh polish. |
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