Howard Bassem (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iselldrugstothecommunity) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
trans_92011-11-08 06:42 pm
iselldrugstothecommunity) wrote in trans_92011-11-08 06:42 pm
Who Will Guard the Door While I Am Sleeping? [Closed]
Howard pops into the Warehouse late. He's spent his day working in the Med Bay, and his afternoon exploring the far south - or whatever approximates south - side of the City and stripping a house of water-proofing. He still expects to be up and about for a few more hours, maybe until daylight; sleep is something that still doesn't come easily, even living at the Inn. But being surrounded by the soft sounds of other people tending to their own business helps.
He walks into the kitchen and pauses for a moment, massaging a sore shoulder and considering whether or not to use some of the hot cocoa packets he stole a few shore leaves ago. He bites his lip, sighs, and decides he can treat himself every once in a while, and hot cocoa isn't a great source of nutrition anyway. It's not very worthwhile to hoard it.
He walks over to the pantry and stops. There isn't dust on the pantry doorknob. Why isn't there dust on the pantry doorknob? Neither he nor Albert live here anymore. Howard just uses it to keep his stuff, and he hasn't put anything in the upstairs pantry for months now.
His hand slips into his pocket and wraps around his pocket knife. "Who's there?"
He swallows hard and wills up the courage to speak again when he hears no answer. He slips over to block the front door - it's incredibly hard to get out windows that he's sealed shut.
"This is my house. Show yourself. I have a weapon."
He walks into the kitchen and pauses for a moment, massaging a sore shoulder and considering whether or not to use some of the hot cocoa packets he stole a few shore leaves ago. He bites his lip, sighs, and decides he can treat himself every once in a while, and hot cocoa isn't a great source of nutrition anyway. It's not very worthwhile to hoard it.
He walks over to the pantry and stops. There isn't dust on the pantry doorknob. Why isn't there dust on the pantry doorknob? Neither he nor Albert live here anymore. Howard just uses it to keep his stuff, and he hasn't put anything in the upstairs pantry for months now.
His hand slips into his pocket and wraps around his pocket knife. "Who's there?"
He swallows hard and wills up the courage to speak again when he hears no answer. He slips over to block the front door - it's incredibly hard to get out windows that he's sealed shut.
"This is my house. Show yourself. I have a weapon."