Warren Worthington III (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wwiii) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomhighdorms2012-02-18 11:54 am
wwiii) wrote in fandomhighdorms2012-02-18 11:54 am
Entry tags:
The Hallways, Saturday Morning
"Oh, god."
Somebody was having a minor crisis in the hallway.
"Oh god oh god oh god."
Somebody had woken up in a dorm room on the third floor, as opposed to the hotel room that he'd fallen alseep in the night before. That somebody had instantly realized, before anything else, that he was wingless and sleeping alone, and the rest had gone somewhat downhill from there. There had been the first glance in the mirror, distracted at first by the lack of wings, and then sharp and panicked as he took in whose face was staring back at him. There had been a few minutes of wide-eyed, stupid staring after that, while all the little gears ground into place.
And then there had been a moment of utter terror, where he had to keep himself from flinging himself out the window because that was generally the fastest way for him to get into town. The sprint down the hallway had been short-lived, because somewhere just before the stairs, Warren had learned for the first time in his life what it was like to be not only even remotely out of shape, but asthmatic.
On the plus side, at least he'd managed to find clothing to pull on besides the Space Battles boxer shorts he'd woken up in that morning.
"Karla!"
Warren was not having the best of mornings, standing at the top of the stairs and trying to catch his breath. No sir.
[OOC: Open, as hallways tend to be! If you want to run into a wheezing Not!Topher, here's your chance. You might get desperately hit up for rickshaw fare. Or just incoherently spazzed at.]
Somebody was having a minor crisis in the hallway.
"Oh god oh god oh god."
Somebody had woken up in a dorm room on the third floor, as opposed to the hotel room that he'd fallen alseep in the night before. That somebody had instantly realized, before anything else, that he was wingless and sleeping alone, and the rest had gone somewhat downhill from there. There had been the first glance in the mirror, distracted at first by the lack of wings, and then sharp and panicked as he took in whose face was staring back at him. There had been a few minutes of wide-eyed, stupid staring after that, while all the little gears ground into place.
And then there had been a moment of utter terror, where he had to keep himself from flinging himself out the window because that was generally the fastest way for him to get into town. The sprint down the hallway had been short-lived, because somewhere just before the stairs, Warren had learned for the first time in his life what it was like to be not only even remotely out of shape, but asthmatic.
On the plus side, at least he'd managed to find clothing to pull on besides the Space Battles boxer shorts he'd woken up in that morning.
"Karla!"
Warren was not having the best of mornings, standing at the top of the stairs and trying to catch his breath. No sir.
[OOC: Open, as hallways tend to be! If you want to run into a wheezing Not!Topher, here's your chance. You might get desperately hit up for rickshaw fare. Or just incoherently spazzed at.]
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"Maybe call the desk and ask them to keep an ear out for death throes and loud flapping," Warren suggested, attempting to dislodge himself from where he was still propped up against the wall. "That way, on the off chance that they're still sleeping, nobody has to wake them up."
It had been a late, somewhat... athletic night. It was entirely possible that both bodies involved still needed some more sleep!
... Right?
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