[Braxiatel walks through the rain with an umbrella in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. He is taking more care in keeping the rain out of his tea than he is in keeping it away from his clothes, and for a moment he even sticks his head out from under his umbrella to look up at the clouds. When he speaks, he is speaking to himself, his voice like smoothed glass.]
That's an awful lot of oil going to waste. And in such a way. [His smile is made of irony, and he looks down at the stars still under their feet despite the rain.] How the old symbols are reformed.
[With the skill of the absurdly well-balanced, he switches his cup to the hand holding the umbrella, opens the library door, and steps inside.]
[After a moment, he pops his head back out again.]
Oh, one thing: have there been any odd deaths lately? I'd be interested to know.
[Then it's back in out of the rain.]
That's an awful lot of oil going to waste. And in such a way. [His smile is made of irony, and he looks down at the stars still under their feet despite the rain.] How the old symbols are reformed.
[With the skill of the absurdly well-balanced, he switches his cup to the hand holding the umbrella, opens the library door, and steps inside.]
[After a moment, he pops his head back out again.]
Oh, one thing: have there been any odd deaths lately? I'd be interested to know.
[Then it's back in out of the rain.]
332 comments | Leave a comment