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fandomhighdorms2006-06-26 10:56 am
actingltcrumpet.livejournal.com) wrote in fandomhighdorms2006-06-26 10:56 am
Entry tags:
First Floor Lobby, Monday Morning [9AM FST Onward]
Even on his best days, Archie found his clockwork workshop challenging. There was simply no way he would be up to the challenge today, though, not in this frame of mind. Being in his room didn't seem like an appealing option, either.
So, tired and haggard-looking, he took his latest ship model -- he'd gotten a bit ambitious and was recreating "Lucky" Jack Aubrey's HMS Victory on a small scale -- and camped out in the first floor lobby to work on it. People passed through here all the time; perhaps the coming and going would keep Simpson's apparition away.
He would be sorely disappointed in that regard, though.
::"Model-building, are we? Isn't that precious."::
Simpson was behind him, arms crossed as he stood and watched; Archie's fingers suddenly lost all coordination, and the piece of taffrail he was attempting to glue into place fell to the floor. "Damn it, Jack," he whispered. "Not here."
::"Seeking refuge in public places?":: sneered the apparition. ::"Dear Archie, the close quarters of a ship of war never deterred me before. What makes you think a common area like this would? Look around you, boy. Do you honestly think you fit in here?"::
"Better than you'd think, Jack," Archie snapped back, though his voice quavered with indecision.
Simpson let out a braying laugh. ::"Delusions, Archie, all delusions. You're a freak, can't you see that? An eccentricity, with your quaint ways and old-fashioned dress. No one would even take it amiss that you seem to be talking to yourself right now."::
Archie was about to snap off a reply when he realized that, in a sense, Simpson was right. This was Fandom, after all; what was so unusual about one boy talking to himself, given everything else that happened here? He buried his face in his hands and took the longest, slowest breath he could manage in an attempt to calm himself.
::"Well?":: asked Simpson impatiently. ::"Back to work, boy! I'll have none of this crying and snivelling from you. Go about your work, and act normal about it. I should think you'd have learned to do that by now."::
Numbly, Archie picked up the piece of taffrail and dabbed fresh glue on it, his hands shaking badly as he pressed it into place a bit crookedly.
A derisive snort. ::"Not good enough, boy. You know what happens when I don't find your work up to standards. I'll be watching you.":: Simpson settled into a chair, fingers steepled as he turned a lazy, unwavering gaze on Archie.
Hands shaking worse than before, Archie picked up the next piece of carved railing and his bottle of glue and set to it, his face flushed and sweat pouring down his forehead. Every noise, however minuscule, seemed to make him jump, and his eyes, when they weren't darting around the room, frequently lost focus. But he was too petrified to move.
[OOC: As established in plot guidelines, unless you are canonically able to do so you will not be able to see Simpson sitting in the chair. The post is open, though, for those curious about one very jumpy and terrified sailor, or for your general lobby use.]
So, tired and haggard-looking, he took his latest ship model -- he'd gotten a bit ambitious and was recreating "Lucky" Jack Aubrey's HMS Victory on a small scale -- and camped out in the first floor lobby to work on it. People passed through here all the time; perhaps the coming and going would keep Simpson's apparition away.
He would be sorely disappointed in that regard, though.
::"Model-building, are we? Isn't that precious."::
Simpson was behind him, arms crossed as he stood and watched; Archie's fingers suddenly lost all coordination, and the piece of taffrail he was attempting to glue into place fell to the floor. "Damn it, Jack," he whispered. "Not here."
::"Seeking refuge in public places?":: sneered the apparition. ::"Dear Archie, the close quarters of a ship of war never deterred me before. What makes you think a common area like this would? Look around you, boy. Do you honestly think you fit in here?"::
"Better than you'd think, Jack," Archie snapped back, though his voice quavered with indecision.
Simpson let out a braying laugh. ::"Delusions, Archie, all delusions. You're a freak, can't you see that? An eccentricity, with your quaint ways and old-fashioned dress. No one would even take it amiss that you seem to be talking to yourself right now."::
Archie was about to snap off a reply when he realized that, in a sense, Simpson was right. This was Fandom, after all; what was so unusual about one boy talking to himself, given everything else that happened here? He buried his face in his hands and took the longest, slowest breath he could manage in an attempt to calm himself.
::"Well?":: asked Simpson impatiently. ::"Back to work, boy! I'll have none of this crying and snivelling from you. Go about your work, and act normal about it. I should think you'd have learned to do that by now."::
Numbly, Archie picked up the piece of taffrail and dabbed fresh glue on it, his hands shaking badly as he pressed it into place a bit crookedly.
A derisive snort. ::"Not good enough, boy. You know what happens when I don't find your work up to standards. I'll be watching you.":: Simpson settled into a chair, fingers steepled as he turned a lazy, unwavering gaze on Archie.
Hands shaking worse than before, Archie picked up the next piece of carved railing and his bottle of glue and set to it, his face flushed and sweat pouring down his forehead. Every noise, however minuscule, seemed to make him jump, and his eyes, when they weren't darting around the room, frequently lost focus. But he was too petrified to move.
[OOC: As established in plot guidelines, unless you are canonically able to do so you will not be able to see Simpson sitting in the chair. The post is open, though, for those curious about one very jumpy and terrified sailor, or for your general lobby use.]