contact//messaging//¿por qué hacer eso?

[treadingdawn]

[Click.]

[Is this for real?]

[Why yes. Yes it is.]



Hello. Um, this is Caspian--

[BEEEEEEEEEEEP. Sultry woman's voice:]

Hola. Caspian del buzón de voz está roto. Esta es su refrigerador.
Por favor, hable muy despacio y voy a mantener su mensaje a mi mismo con un imán!
Gracias.

[BEEP. End automated message.]

LABEL MESSAGES AS TEXT, TXT MSG, OR AUDIO. EVERYTHING IS PRIVATE, NO PARTY LINES.
Action for Narnia crew, anytime, anywhere, or pre-arranged with anyone else.

Comments

Dirge

[highcost-living.livejournal.com]

He's not the first king to turn the issue over and again in his head like a smooth stone. But he's the only Caspian X to do so, and is treated with the same amount of patience. She doesn't force her point. It's out and in the air reverberating.

"Not long at all. Maybe four or five shakes of a lamb's tail because this is a steam train." His sitting down is most welcome. Reluctance is the best she can expect right now. And he's so polite!

Dirge

[treadingdawn.livejournal.com]

He is thinking about something, about longing and about living, about how he has supposedly done so much living, and for all that living he is still here alone. Well, alone with her. She knows much but says so little. But it isn't in Caspian's nature to hesitate from questioning. Brown eyes turn to her, downcast for a brief moment, then curiously.

"What is a steam train?"

Dirge

[highcost-living.livejournal.com]

"Some time in the future they find out that the use of fire, coals and water to move machinery. Pretty ingenious if you ask me." There's going to be an awful lot of trains to come.

The billowing smoke takes shapes. She thinks that one of them could be a rabbit.

Dirge

[treadingdawn.livejournal.com]

"Oh," Caspian sounds, unsure of how that works and yet knowing it does or will work, because of the Pevensies and what he's seen in a far away world. There is something strange here, beyond her and their company and the scenery-yet-not-scenery that passes the windows. He thinks he spots a green serpent under someone's seat, then it's gone again.

"I'm going to fight, you know," he says to her only because he's almost quite sure that she already knows this. Caspian has no sword at his side, nothing to wield as a weapon, but he has his tenacity and his will to oppose whatever this is. He just doesn't know when yet.

Dirge

[highcost-living.livejournal.com]

That blur outside the window looks like the lovechild of Pollock and Monet works. Splattered, obscured and in need of focus to enjoy. She likes it because she's hat the time to study it standing still. Someone else is bound to enjoy it in their way. Or not.

"I won't turn down a challenge if that's what you really want," Death answers. She leans closer and rests her elbow on her knee in order to prop up her head. All the better to study his face at an angle. The Telmarine is such the courtly sort. A king through and through, not the begging sort. "Fight here though?"

Death has let enough people go. They call it cheating or having a near experience. She calls it a change of plans. Or a change of priority. Something akin to waiting for an appointment. Whenever it is.