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damned_institute2010-05-22 09:11 pm
noifsandsorbubs.livejournal.com) wrote in damned_institute2010-05-22 09:11 pm
Night 49: Pantry 1 - First Floor
[from here]
An average man in good shape can run about ten miles an hour. Logan was not aware of this, but that was how fast his bike was going. Something had caught his eye on the road ahead, and he'd slowed way down to avoid slamming into anything potentially huge; and then, as he was veering toward the side of the road to get a closer look, the feeling of standing on the edge of an abyss and looking down washed over him.
And then, at the speed of a flat-out run, he'd crashed.
He stayed where he was for a full ten seconds, half-buried in - what? Debris? Pieces of the bike? He definitely hadn't been going that fast, and damn it, the road had been empty. He shifted and sat up, and the debris, or whatever, shifted with him. It sounded suspiciously like aluminum cans.
Pitch black, clearly an indoor space, and - what the hell was crunchy under his hand?
Cereal.
It was a goddamn pantry. And his ribs hurt. He could've invented a small journal's worth of new and creative words for the situation and whoever thought it was funny to jerk people around like this, but instead he said: "You okay?"
An average man in good shape can run about ten miles an hour. Logan was not aware of this, but that was how fast his bike was going. Something had caught his eye on the road ahead, and he'd slowed way down to avoid slamming into anything potentially huge; and then, as he was veering toward the side of the road to get a closer look, the feeling of standing on the edge of an abyss and looking down washed over him.
And then, at the speed of a flat-out run, he'd crashed.
He stayed where he was for a full ten seconds, half-buried in - what? Debris? Pieces of the bike? He definitely hadn't been going that fast, and damn it, the road had been empty. He shifted and sat up, and the debris, or whatever, shifted with him. It sounded suspiciously like aluminum cans.
Pitch black, clearly an indoor space, and - what the hell was crunchy under his hand?
Cereal.
It was a goddamn pantry. And his ribs hurt. He could've invented a small journal's worth of new and creative words for the situation and whoever thought it was funny to jerk people around like this, but instead he said: "You okay?"
no subject
She didn't find much on her end, a bag of dinner rolls that she could probably substitute for yeast.
Jeez this is going to taste awful.
"Wow, you work fast..." Taking off her sweatshirt and pulling down the gray smiley shirt underneath, Tifa tied a knot in the bottom of the sweatshirt and walked closer to Logan. "We don't need to take all of it this night. I don't want to be the only one empty handed if something comes after us." The beer took priority, and she set it down on the floor before going through all the ingredients. The apples were necessary so that would stay, oranges were going to make the alcohol too tart so she scrapped those, ketchup she put in her sweatshirt along with the apples. "If you can carry a can of juice and a bag of sugar, that'll be plenty." Plus, he could easily set them down if they found trouble. "I've got the beer..."
Tying the heavy sweatshirt to her waist with the sleeves, Tifa grabbed the rolls, beer, and kindly opened the door for them like a good girl.