Re: Log: Sleepy Brielle/Professor Charles/Captain Steve
[Upstairs. Steve immediately knew what would need to be done in a strategic snap of synapse, as, no, there was no lift, as a cursory glance confirmed. He blinked in the fizzing electric light glowing like liquid gold on walls plated in ceramic tiles. His eyes traveled up the throat of the staircase, from the careful tongue of carpeting that lolled down to the throw rug just a few feet away to the careful, dark mold of wood glazed in honeyed sealant. The exuberant sounds of the speakeasy thumped against the flooring, the brass of jazz, the sounds of glasses and men talking.
The railing of the staircase that frosted one side (the wall held the other) culminated in the geometric deco of a lamp.
The man just over the threshold glanced down at Charles. He nodded, looked once more up the stairs, then back. He breathed deeply.] I'm going to help you up there. [It was stated—decreed, some might say—and Steve bent to grab the man's chair. He hitched it up with little effort, psychic and all, braced against his hips.] Just sit still.
[The stairs were climbed with ease, the only thing unwieldy about the arrangement being Steve couldn't see around the chair and his elbow kept scraping against the tiled wall.—But once they reached the landing, he settled man and chair back on the comfort of the floor, looking around in the darkness. The hallway extended right and left, all lamps cold in their sconces.] Which way?