Another. He lifts his gaze in the direction of the howl. He knows where it is now.
His right hand occupied by the mental pain, the stranger limps over to the counter once again, this time passing the dining table and heading straight to the center of the kitchen, his left hand the only paddle propelling him forward in the imaginary stream. Right as he arrives, a howl cries out loud and sound among the stove and scattered appliances coating every available surface on the opposite countertop. It was a kettle all along. Its handle looms a head over the rest that lay either broken or knocked over, and it is the only one clear of the chaos, heating up its contents in solitude while the flame and cooktop flare as its sole companions.
~~~~ Science.
I swear that last paragraph sounded like something Charles Dickens would write..
oh it was the BRICKING KETTLE!?! FOR GOSH SAKES, PEOPLE, WATCH YOUR STUFF! YOU GAVE US ONE BRICK OF A SCARE! ŌmÓ
The power of commas and super long sentences. Thank you! :3 Not-Bert vs. inanimate objects round 3 xD
Another. He lifts his gaze in the direction of the howl. He knows where it is now.
His right hand occupied by the mental pain, the stranger limps over to the counter once again, this time passing the dining table and heading straight to the center of the kitchen, his left hand the only paddle propelling him forward in the imaginary stream. Right as he arrives, a howl cries out loud and sound among the stove and scattered appliances coating every available surface on the opposite countertop. It was a kettle all along. Its handle looms a head over the rest that lay either broken or knocked over, and it is the only one clear of the chaos, heating up its contents in solitude while the flame and cooktop flare as its sole companions.
~~~~ Science.
Why must you scare us with simple things like science and common logic? Beautiful!
In Settings: Default, we explore the wonders of natural science and the little magic in life most have forgotten. Looks like our main protagonist have a lot to learn... Thankie! ^-^
-last edited on Jan 6, 2019 21:46:05 GMT by TeaLeaf❀
Post by TeaLeaf❀ on Jan 6, 2019 21:44:16 GMT
He looks upon it with great confusion, the wretched pain fading away at long last. But the joy he’s yearning for doesn’t show, and the answers he has been seeking were nothing more than a ruse. The stranger gives himself an embarrassed smirk, the humor of the situation far from his disillusioned eyes as he goes ahead and switches off the flame. The blue and orange rings disintegrate in a flick, and the pot is left boiling away without support, the steam floating gradually without purpose now that it is stripped of aid.
“We’re so sorry for everything we’ve said…we’re all responsible…”
He continues waiting for a minute or two, his sight enriched by other hidden elements of his location, like the rice cooker also placed by itself in the midst of a semi-cleaned spot laid siege by a toaster and its electric plug, the medium-sized refrigerator a perfect fit into the giant gap bridging the kitchen and the front door, and the lights…he spends another good second finding and turning on the lights, and the first floor instantly floods with dancing shadows from the bright, orange bulbs fixated over the designated cooking area. Now, he thinks to himself, now it feels like what it is: a home.
You don’t need to apologize to me.
“But what about all those awful things we said? Isn’t that why you left?”
Of course not. I…
The townhouse looks smaller, as if the light has shrunken the place by half. The interconnectedness of the Wesley home seems to heighten the closeness of family, the rooms all joining and blending into one another without a defined border. Yet the lights can only reach so far, and much of the interior still abide by the confines of darkness, the orange glow unable to penetrate its fortress. Or at least, not yet, he thinks as he lifts the kettle and places it on a table mat. There are more lights to be found, more switches to turn on. And eventually, everything will be bathed in light, everything known and understood.
It will take time, but he will—
A crash. The stranger instinctively looks up and finds himself staring right into a dumbstruck Lillian.
He looks upon it with great confusion, the wretched pain fading away at long last. But the joy he’s yearning for doesn’t show, and the answers he has been seeking were nothing more than a ruse. The stranger gives himself an embarrassed smirk, the humor of the situation far from his disillusioned eyes as he goes ahead and switches off the flame. The blue and orange rings disintegrate in a flick, and the pot is left boiling away without support, the steam floating gradually without purpose now that it is stripped of aid.
“We’re so sorry for everything we’ve said…we’re all responsible…”
He continues waiting for a minute or two, his sight enriched by other hidden elements of his location, like the rice cooker also placed by itself in the midst of a semi-cleaned spot laid siege by a toaster and its electric plug, the medium-sized refrigerator a perfect fit into the giant gap bridging the kitchen and the front door, and the lights…he spends another good second finding and turning on the lights, and the first floor instantly floods with dancing shadows from the bright, orange bulbs fixated over the designated cooking area. Now, he thinks to himself, now it feels like what it is: a home.
You don’t need to apologize to me.
“But what about all those awful things we said? Isn’t that why you left?”
Of course not. I…
The townhouse looks smaller, as if the light has shrunken the place by half. The interconnectedness of the Wesley home seems to heighten the closeness of family, the rooms all joining and blending into one another without a defined border. Yet the lights can only reach so far, and much of the interior still abide by the confines of darkness, the orange glow unable to penetrate its fortress. Or at least, not yet, he thinks as he lifts the kettle and places it on a table mat. There are more lights to be found, more switches to turn on. And eventually, everything will be bathed in light, everything known and understood.
It will take time, but he will—
A crash. The stranger instinctively looks up and finds himself staring right into a dumbstruck Lillian.
Beautiful descriptions. If one takes the time to read slowly and savor each word, they can very well lose themselves in your magic.
@bold & underlined: That makes me think of the episode "Home", from S1, when Zane came back after running off and the others had thought it was their fault. . . More theories are trying to brew in my little bewildered head. :3
Why must you scare us with simple things like science and common logic? Beautiful!
In Settings: Default, we explore the wonders of natural science and the little magic in life most have forgotten. Looks like our main protagonist have a lot to learn... Thankie! ^-^
He looks upon it with great confusion, the wretched pain fading away at long last. But the joy he’s yearning for doesn’t show, and the answers he has been seeking were nothing more than a ruse. The stranger gives himself an embarrassed smirk, the humor of the situation far from his disillusioned eyes as he goes ahead and switches off the flame. The blue and orange rings disintegrate in a flick, and the pot is left boiling away without support, the steam floating gradually without purpose now that it is stripped of aid.
“We’re so sorry for everything we’ve said…we’re all responsible…”
He continues waiting for a minute or two, his sight enriched by other hidden elements of his location, like the rice cooker also placed by itself in the midst of a semi-cleaned spot laid siege by a toaster and its electric plug, the medium-sized refrigerator a perfect fit into the giant gap bridging the kitchen and the front door, and the lights…he spends another good second finding and turning on the lights, and the first floor instantly floods with dancing shadows from the bright, orange bulbs fixated over the designated cooking area. Now, he thinks to himself, now it feels like what it is: a home.
You don’t need to apologize to me.
“But what about all those awful things we said? Isn’t that why you left?”
Of course not. I…
The townhouse looks smaller, as if the light has shrunken the place by half. The interconnectedness of the Wesley home seems to heighten the closeness of family, the rooms all joining and blending into one another without a defined border. Yet the lights can only reach so far, and much of the interior still abide by the confines of darkness, the orange glow unable to penetrate its fortress. Or at least, not yet, he thinks as he lifts the kettle and places it on a table mat. There are more lights to be found, more switches to turn on. And eventually, everything will be bathed in light, everything known and understood.
It will take time, but he will—
A crash. The stranger instinctively looks up and finds himself staring right into a dumbstruck Lillian.
He looks upon it with great confusion, the wretched pain fading away at long last. But the joy he’s yearning for doesn’t show, and the answers he has been seeking were nothing more than a ruse. The stranger gives himself an embarrassed smirk, the humor of the situation far from his disillusioned eyes as he goes ahead and switches off the flame. The blue and orange rings disintegrate in a flick, and the pot is left boiling away without support, the steam floating gradually without purpose now that it is stripped of aid.
“We’re so sorry for everything we’ve said…we’re all responsible…”
He continues waiting for a minute or two, his sight enriched by other hidden elements of his location, like the rice cooker also placed by itself in the midst of a semi-cleaned spot laid siege by a toaster and its electric plug, the medium-sized refrigerator a perfect fit into the giant gap bridging the kitchen and the front door, and the lights…he spends another good second finding and turning on the lights, and the first floor instantly floods with dancing shadows from the bright, orange bulbs fixated over the designated cooking area. Now, he thinks to himself, now it feels like what it is: a home.
You don’t need to apologize to me.
“But what about all those awful things we said? Isn’t that why you left?”
Of course not. I…
The townhouse looks smaller, as if the light has shrunken the place by half. The interconnectedness of the Wesley home seems to heighten the closeness of family, the rooms all joining and blending into one another without a defined border. Yet the lights can only reach so far, and much of the interior still abide by the confines of darkness, the orange glow unable to penetrate its fortress. Or at least, not yet, he thinks as he lifts the kettle and places it on a table mat. There are more lights to be found, more switches to turn on. And eventually, everything will be bathed in light, everything known and understood.
It will take time, but he will—
A crash. The stranger instinctively looks up and finds himself staring right into a dumbstruck Lillian.
Beautiful descriptions. If one takes the time to read slowly and savor each word, they can very well lose themselves in your magic.
@bold & underlined: That makes me think of the episode "Home", from S1, when Zane came back after running off and the others had thought it was their fault. . . More theories are trying to brew in my little bewildered head. :3
Oh hi Lillian.
Thankie!! >w<
...An interesting coincidence. *adds potatoes to the theory brew* :3
He looks upon it with great confusion, the wretched pain fading away at long last. But the joy he’s yearning for doesn’t show, and the answers he has been seeking were nothing more than a ruse. The stranger gives himself an embarrassed smirk, the humor of the situation far from his disillusioned eyes as he goes ahead and switches off the flame. The blue and orange rings disintegrate in a flick, and the pot is left boiling away without support, the steam floating gradually without purpose now that it is stripped of aid.
“We’re so sorry for everything we’ve said…we’re all responsible…”
He continues waiting for a minute or two, his sight enriched by other hidden elements of his location, like the rice cooker also placed by itself in the midst of a semi-cleaned spot laid siege by a toaster and its electric plug, the medium-sized refrigerator a perfect fit into the giant gap bridging the kitchen and the front door, and the lights…he spends another good second finding and turning on the lights, and the first floor instantly floods with dancing shadows from the bright, orange bulbs fixated over the designated cooking area. Now, he thinks to himself, now it feels like what it is: a home.
You don’t need to apologize to me.
“But what about all those awful things we said? Isn’t that why you left?”
Of course not. I…
The townhouse looks smaller, as if the light has shrunken the place by half. The interconnectedness of the Wesley home seems to heighten the closeness of family, the rooms all joining and blending into one another without a defined border. Yet the lights can only reach so far, and much of the interior still abide by the confines of darkness, the orange glow unable to penetrate its fortress. Or at least, not yet, he thinks as he lifts the kettle and places it on a table mat. There are more lights to be found, more switches to turn on. And eventually, everything will be bathed in light, everything known and understood.
It will take time, but he will—
A crash. The stranger instinctively looks up and finds himself staring right into a dumbstruck Lillian.
Beautiful descriptions. If one takes the time to read slowly and savor each word, they can very well lose themselves in your magic.
@bold & underlined: That makes me think of the episode "Home", from S1, when Zane came back after running off and the others had thought it was their fault. . . More theories are trying to brew in my little bewildered head. :3
Oh hi Lillian.
Thankie!! >w<
...An interesting coincidence. *adds potatoes to the theory brew* :3
*she's too shocked to reply*
You're welcome! ^,^
(Coincidence, my foot. . . )
If this kind of thing keeps up, she's liable to get a heart attack.
Suggested Music: "5:30 am"-Hiroyuki Komagata They feel heavy, weighted down, and it took all his might to accomplish the feat. His body aches as he next tries to shift his arms and legs, grasping aimlessly at the empty air. He does this slow, hands tracing the ghostly outlines of waves tugging at his legs, the transparent waters choking him free of breath. He wants to—he has to—make sure. After the third attempt, he pushes himself up and, stunned with relief, a single thought flashes across his mind.
He’s alive.
A sudden pain flares up in the back of his head and he gasps to keep his eyes attuned to the world, ever so bright and unmerciful with its brilliant colors and lights. Everything blur together into a spinning mess of flickering images and piercing wail, and he places his hands on the focus of the mental quake, suddenly terrified by their unnatural stiffness and foreign touch. Trying to ignore the drag on his weakened muscles, he continues to hold them: a desperate make-shift stronghold against the agonizing rumble. His will loosens with each increased shock, and he soon finds himself hissing in anguish and misery. Even the silence is too loud, and its quiet buzzing builds up to a sharp, blaring screech. It rises in frequency, jumbling his muddled thoughts and worsening his distress. His mouth isdry, and it is only then that he realizes he is screaming, eyes lined with tears, yet the pain only grew.
He takes a jagged breath and lowers his sore limbs, trembling uncontrollably as he raises his head in puzzlement and fear. Then, after a moment or two, he starts to recognize parts of his surroundings. The dusty pile of logs, the artificial ember lights, the rough kitchen counter…He is back at the Wesley House, laying on one of the living room couches. With a cushion rested behind his head and a blanket wrapped messily around his torso, warmth flows to every part of his frozen body and his consciousness begins to unwind. Though he still shivers from time to time, the fabric provided a much-needed comfort, and he finally lets out a sigh of relief.
Suggested Music: "5:30 am"-Hiroyuki Komagata They feel heavy, weighted down, and it took all his might to accomplish the feat. His body aches as he next tries to shift his arms and legs, grasping aimlessly at the empty air. He does this slow, hands tracing the ghostly outlines of waves tugging at his legs, the transparent waters choking him free of breath. He wants to—he has to—make sure. After the third attempt, he pushes himself up and, stunned with relief, a single thought flashes across his mind.
He’s alive.
A sudden pain flares up in the back of his head and he gasps to keep his eyes attuned to the world, ever so bright and unmerciful with its brilliant colors and lights. Everything blur together into a spinning mess of flickering images and piercing wail, and he places his hands on the focus of the mental quake, suddenly terrified by their unnatural stiffness and foreign touch. Trying to ignore the drag on his weakened muscles, he continues to hold them: a desperate make-shift stronghold against the agonizing rumble. His will loosens with each increased shock, and he soon finds himself hissing in anguish and misery. Even the silence is too loud, and its quiet buzzing builds up to a sharp, blaring screech. It rises in frequency, jumbling his muddled thoughts and worsening his distress. His mouth isdry, and it is only then that he realizes he is screaming, eyes lined with tears, yet the pain only grew.
He takes a jagged breath and lowers his sore limbs, trembling uncontrollably as he raises his head in puzzlement and fear. Then, after a moment or two, he starts to recognize parts of his surroundings. The dusty pile of logs, the artificial ember lights, the rough kitchen counter…He is back at the Wesley House, laying on one of the living room couches. With a cushion rested behind his head and a blanket wrapped messily around his torso, warmth flows to every part of his frozen body and his consciousness begins to unwind. Though he still shivers from time to time, the fabric provided a much-needed comfort, and he finally lets out a sigh of relief.
That was a neat obscure track to try.
It's what my brain sounds like the day after I pull an all-nighter.
![[derp]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/YqNTPqyQUocVMYXZgUAI.png)
![[y]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/WYWPH2VRo26pOFDid7QZ.png)
![[li]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/GYGttfyoFUnuedg0UBiD.png)
![[h]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/nPCskakrdhDERqIVGKuw.png)
Thank you! :3
![[h]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/hfSwWMIrqfbcVMuaJTst.png)
![[uni]](http://storage.proboards.com/6672327/images/mPKcREJAtrpeAXSOgaOH.png)
