devilmind (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
devilmind) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deercountry2022-01-29 09:01 pm
devilmind) wrote in deercountry2022-01-29 09:01 pm
Entry tags:
(closed) can't see you through the snow-blind
Who: The Operator and Luna Lovegood
What: The Operator seeks shelter with a stranger during a blizzard.
When: February 9th
Where: Luna's townhouse in Gaze
[ Over the past few weeks, the Operator has spent the majority of their days in the Archaic Archives. There is so much to learn about this place, so much to unravel, and the very design of the Archives seems to encourage getting lost amongst its volumes for hours at a time. They’ve learned of the Pthumerians, the blood types, the professions that maintain this world: a society and history far, far removed from that of their home.
Like every other day of their search, they leave with more questions than answers and spend the long walk back to the School of Mutter turning them over in their head. So distracted are they that they barely take notice when the snow and wind begin to pick up around them. Even now, they aren’t used to existing in a body that’s vulnerable to something as trivial as weather. Thus, by the time they start to realize that this particular turn might actually be dangerous, it’s already too late.
The snow erases their surroundings, shrinking the world around them to a few scant feet in front of their face. The Operator does their best to remain calm, simply trudging forward as best they can. They’re sure they haven’t been turned around. If they keep heading in the same direction, they’ll hit some sort of structure eventually.
Indeed, they only manage like this for a few minutes before they stumble over something—a something that happens to be furry and mobile and that barks at them as they pick themselves up. ]
Ugh. [ The Operator dusts snow from their clothes, staring warily at the creature even as it wags its tail back at them. They raise a hand, palm out, in case it decides to attack. ] Good kubrow, [ they murmur, voice slow and appeasing. ] Nice kubrow…
[ The dog barks again and bounds over the snow away from the Operator. They breathe a sigh of relief—but the dog isn’t running away. Instead, it stops at a distance of a few meters from and looks back expectantly. ]
You… [ The Operator cocks their head. ] You want me to follow you?
[ The dog barks something that sounds an awful lot like an affirmative. The Operator hesitates for a moment—and then cautiously follows, letting the dog lead them bound by bound through the snow. At least it seems to know where it’s going, which is more than the Operator can say for themself.
It’s a long, blisteringly cold walk through the snow, but eventually, they arrive… somewhere. The Operator doesn’t recognize the tall, boxy house with a blue door, but the dog evidently does. It races ahead of the Operator at the sight of it and immediately begins pawing at the door’s surface, its scratching punctuated by sharp barking. The Operator waits a few feet away, shivering with arms wrapped tightly around them. They’re harder to kill than your average human child by hypothermia or otherwise, but even they aren’t sure how long they can keep walking around in this weather before they’re forced to stop. They’ll just have to hope that someone is actually in the house—and that whoever it is will be kind enough to let them in. ]
What: The Operator seeks shelter with a stranger during a blizzard.
When: February 9th
Where: Luna's townhouse in Gaze
[ Over the past few weeks, the Operator has spent the majority of their days in the Archaic Archives. There is so much to learn about this place, so much to unravel, and the very design of the Archives seems to encourage getting lost amongst its volumes for hours at a time. They’ve learned of the Pthumerians, the blood types, the professions that maintain this world: a society and history far, far removed from that of their home.
Like every other day of their search, they leave with more questions than answers and spend the long walk back to the School of Mutter turning them over in their head. So distracted are they that they barely take notice when the snow and wind begin to pick up around them. Even now, they aren’t used to existing in a body that’s vulnerable to something as trivial as weather. Thus, by the time they start to realize that this particular turn might actually be dangerous, it’s already too late.
The snow erases their surroundings, shrinking the world around them to a few scant feet in front of their face. The Operator does their best to remain calm, simply trudging forward as best they can. They’re sure they haven’t been turned around. If they keep heading in the same direction, they’ll hit some sort of structure eventually.
Indeed, they only manage like this for a few minutes before they stumble over something—a something that happens to be furry and mobile and that barks at them as they pick themselves up. ]
Ugh. [ The Operator dusts snow from their clothes, staring warily at the creature even as it wags its tail back at them. They raise a hand, palm out, in case it decides to attack. ] Good kubrow, [ they murmur, voice slow and appeasing. ] Nice kubrow…
[ The dog barks again and bounds over the snow away from the Operator. They breathe a sigh of relief—but the dog isn’t running away. Instead, it stops at a distance of a few meters from and looks back expectantly. ]
You… [ The Operator cocks their head. ] You want me to follow you?
[ The dog barks something that sounds an awful lot like an affirmative. The Operator hesitates for a moment—and then cautiously follows, letting the dog lead them bound by bound through the snow. At least it seems to know where it’s going, which is more than the Operator can say for themself.
It’s a long, blisteringly cold walk through the snow, but eventually, they arrive… somewhere. The Operator doesn’t recognize the tall, boxy house with a blue door, but the dog evidently does. It races ahead of the Operator at the sight of it and immediately begins pawing at the door’s surface, its scratching punctuated by sharp barking. The Operator waits a few feet away, shivering with arms wrapped tightly around them. They’re harder to kill than your average human child by hypothermia or otherwise, but even they aren’t sure how long they can keep walking around in this weather before they’re forced to stop. They’ll just have to hope that someone is actually in the house—and that whoever it is will be kind enough to let them in. ]