scoresby is the name. (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} leescoresby) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} silverage, |
Lawrence must have gone to an errand as by the time Lee came back to the shelter of the dingy hangar, the closest person they got to a mechanic was gone. But everything was in order: at a corner of the space was his deflated balloon. The wicker basket was pressed against the left wall, covered by a large piece of canvas. His propane tanks were a few steps away, a relatively good distance to keep the basket from catching fire instantly in case something terrible happened. His tools and different items of obsession sat close to the basket in a box and spread out on the floor was the envelope of his balloon. The design had faded, not that there was much of one. It looked like an opaque, light shade of blue and gray from afar and away from the light but upon closer inspection, the colors would be separated by a tightly knit pattern of diamonds and triangles. This wasn't its original color, though.
Already, Lee could see where all that wind, rain, sun and everything had gotten his beloved balloon. Maybe he should consider getting it changed, all right. But that was going to cost him more than his leg right now, he was pretty sure.
"The valve cord needs replacing and so does the burner. On top of that, I'm low on propane and I need a change of oil. My balloon could use a couple of makeovers, too," he gestured to the envelope, "As you can see."
Hester had successfully slipped inside the canvas and she allowed Lee to pull it away so he could carry her and drop her into "familiar ground". The rest of his ropes and hooks were tossed into the basket and Hester made herself comfortable in her favorite corner.
"Least the basket's still fine. But then again, it's always fine!" he laughed.