Journal the First

[theabjectauthor]

[the lobby door creaks open a few inches, just enough for a man in a fedora to poke his head in carefully. his eyes widen, and he ducks back out and shuts the door. from without, there's a muffled yet still pretty pronounced shout:]

O, LORD.

[with that, the door opens again, all the way, this time, and he shuffles in, shutting it quickly behind him and clutching a worn leather messenger bag to his chest as though his very life depended on it. his pinstripe suit is slightly rumpled and spotted here and there with ash, and there's a thick scarf wound around his neck. he moves carefully away from the door, eyes wide as he takes in his surroundings]

... I certainly think I'd remember this being on the map.

[and with that, he sits down on one of the lobby couches and starts going through his bag - getting more and more distraught the longer he rummages. clearly, whatever he's looking for isn't there...]

Comments

[persequor]

How did you avoid being bitten to get that close?

[theabjectauthor]

Oh, you don't have to be too terribly close if you fling them properly. There's a decided technique to it.

[persequor]

Can you show me?

[theabjectauthor]

Well, certainly. The more one can learn, the better, I think. ... We'll need a few more, though, in case this one breaks.

[persequor]

You can just wish for them.

[theabjectauthor]

I suppose all the beggars here ride, then?

[persequor]

I'm sorry?