amodernknight (amodernknight) wrote in oblivionrp, @ 2009-03-26 23:35:00 |
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Entry tags: | miguel |
Walls
Who: Miguel (solo)
Where: Laundry
When: Midnight
With the worsening of the storm, Miguel had found himself talked into working overtime. Marla hadn't had to be very persuasive; Miguel had practically volunteered. Unlike his cousin and brother, Miguel's socializing had been extremely limited. His English skills were not the only reason for this, although they certainly contributed.
So, Miguel had agreed to work. As fortune would have it, Marla had ordered him to the laundry room. Guests were becoming ill left and right, and someone needed to prepare new linens for them. Miguel, it seemed, had drawn the lucky straw.
Well, someone had to do it.
The laundry room was on one of the lower decks, which was a great relief for Miguel's tossing stomach. Although he could still function, the ever-pressing sensations made him nervous. He couldn't afford to be sick, and, so, he had determined to work through it. Here, the motions of the ship was not so bad as in some places above.
Miguel's stomach was beginning to feel more like its old self by the time midnight struck. The laundry room kept its workers in near-isolation, and Miguel had no idea what time it was or what was about to happen.
When the ship initally lurched, the laundry cart Miguel was working beside rolled angrily down the aisle, only to turn around and slam back into him. Wide-eyed, Miguel remained hunched between the huge washers, both machines anchored apparently well to the floor. He wanted the cart slide back and forth, looking lost and out of place.
After everything had ended, Miguel carefully emerged from the pile of clean laundry he had become buried beneath. It was a cautious gesture, as though an ambush awaited him on the other side of his towel fortress. When the ship remained still beneath his feet, he breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever had happened was over...
Time to find out what was going on above-decks...