Post by Levarin Kindslayer on Jun 10, 2009 23:30:37 GMT -5
As she approached him, he saw the tears falling down her cheeks. He turned full to face her, and without even realizing what he was doing, he reached up and gently wiped them away with a finger.
His voice was quiet, much quieter now than before, "Such a pretty face should not be stained with leakage." Damn, that was almost romantic. Just one hex bolt shy.
He led her into the next room. It was living quarters. An old bunk bed was pushed against the wall, regulation white with scratchy blankets and army-issue flattened pillows. But on the other wall was a large King size bed, the frame underneath removed and the box spring as well. Instead there was a large mattress, covered with cotton sheets and a black blanket. Why did this matter? Because Levarin is a heavy muther-fugger, and clearly a frame or box spring would only collapse under his weight.
To the side was a kitchen, with three refrigerators, four ovens and stoves, and a long counter with much more kitchen appliances and utensils. A door led to a pantry in the next room, which was no doubt stocked full of freeze-dried rations and bottled drinks. The kitchen was at least clean and clearly recently used.
On the next wall near another large door were much more modern computer terminals, large screens displaying the surrounding area and beyond, radar images, and satellite images. One terminal in particular was intently hacking away at a Tower laptop which sat on the work desk.
Finally, the fourth wall led into a conference room with a large table and a long glass window looking into the living space. A government seal from a long dead society adorned one of the three walls inside, behind a podium with a similar logo. Everything was covered with white blankets, though.
In the middle of Levarin's little abode were some comfortable chairs and couches he'd clearly salvaged from somewhere else, along with old bookshelves with only three shelves, but packed full of old tomes, some reference, some not. A lone reading lamp stood on duty behind the largest of the comfy chairs.
"Please...make yourself at home..."
His voice was quiet, much quieter now than before, "Such a pretty face should not be stained with leakage." Damn, that was almost romantic. Just one hex bolt shy.
He led her into the next room. It was living quarters. An old bunk bed was pushed against the wall, regulation white with scratchy blankets and army-issue flattened pillows. But on the other wall was a large King size bed, the frame underneath removed and the box spring as well. Instead there was a large mattress, covered with cotton sheets and a black blanket. Why did this matter? Because Levarin is a heavy muther-fugger, and clearly a frame or box spring would only collapse under his weight.
To the side was a kitchen, with three refrigerators, four ovens and stoves, and a long counter with much more kitchen appliances and utensils. A door led to a pantry in the next room, which was no doubt stocked full of freeze-dried rations and bottled drinks. The kitchen was at least clean and clearly recently used.
On the next wall near another large door were much more modern computer terminals, large screens displaying the surrounding area and beyond, radar images, and satellite images. One terminal in particular was intently hacking away at a Tower laptop which sat on the work desk.
Finally, the fourth wall led into a conference room with a large table and a long glass window looking into the living space. A government seal from a long dead society adorned one of the three walls inside, behind a podium with a similar logo. Everything was covered with white blankets, though.
In the middle of Levarin's little abode were some comfortable chairs and couches he'd clearly salvaged from somewhere else, along with old bookshelves with only three shelves, but packed full of old tomes, some reference, some not. A lone reading lamp stood on duty behind the largest of the comfy chairs.
"Please...make yourself at home..."
