A delivery to room #230.

[medusae-x.livejournal.com]

A small freshman boy stands in the hall, frowning slightly at his watch. He holds a small rosewood box - in his hands.

At exactly 12:01, one minute into Thursday morning, November 3, he knocks on the door. Wincing, he takes a deep breath and hopes the guy's home.




And a card, reading, "It's a watch. It's a phone. It slices. It dices. It makes Julienne fries. What's a Julienne fry? No fucking clue, go ask Julienne. It also does other nifty tricks but you'll have to ask me in person for the details. Happy birthday, old man."

There's a drawing of a snake at the bottom.

Comments

[krycek-rat.livejournal.com]

Krycek answers the door in hastily pulled-on jeans, bleary-eyed and not quite awake even as he glares at the kid. When the boy hands over the box, he looks at it for a long moment and then says something very pointed about someone's parentage in not-English, loud enough to make the freshman jump.

When the kid's run away, Krycek goes back inside, checking the contents of the box and reading the note. He groans and rubs at his eyes, setting both box and watch on the desk before he goes to collapse back into bed. He has a feeling he's not going to be pleased with tomorrow.

[medusae-x.livejournal.com]

The freshman bolts as soon as the box is out of his hands. Rounding a corner, he makes a call on his phone, but doesn't speak to whomever is on the other end of the line. He simply pushes the number 1.