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savetheearth2014-10-06 09:27 pm
dead_black_eyes) wrote in savetheearth2014-10-06 09:27 pm
Ring the bell that still can ring, forget your perfect offering [10/6, OPEN]
Who: Lazarus and you; as always feel free to use this as a mingle post sans Lazarus if there's another thread you want to play out in this location at this time!
What: He returns to work with much better results than last time. Stop by for some coffee on your way to Fuessen via the teleporter, catch a glimpse of the pink lights on the shop's TV, or just say hi.
When: October 6th, all day.
Where: Espresso Yourself
Warnings: Nothing yet. Will be updated if necessary.
Though the weeks Lazarus had taken off had crawled by excruciatingly slowly, they had done the man good. Despite the fact that it was often said that no lasting change could happen quickly, he had tried his hardest to set positive ones in motion; he'd changed his diet, gotten his hands fixed with a combination of surgery and healing, and quit his "manageable" opiate habit cold turkey. Withdrawal had been miserable, but for the first morning in awhile, he woke up feeling clear-headed and something like well, meaning that he could, at last, trust himself to go back to work and be around people again. Even though he hadn't been completely alone during his time away- he would have gone absolutely insane if he'd tried to take on all of what he had by himself- he'd be lying if he claimed he wasn't a little bit uncertain about his rusty people skills. Torin, Richard, and Tony had helped him, along with others, but it wasn't exactly normal circumstances, or normal interaction.
Those who hadn't seen L for awhile might find his appearance jarring. He'd traded his beaten converse sneakers in for steel-toed boots, putting some weight and power into his steps; if he had to kick someone for any reason, they would feel it. His hands appeared and functioned normally for the first time in years, and those arriving early enough might have seen him toss his now-unneeded brace into storage. No one could possibly miss the numbers, his numbers, tattooed in neat black letters across his left palm, or the dusty sprinkling of grey beginning to grow and mingle with his inky black hair. Even though his week with the "flu" had been rough on him, draining him of color and vitality, he looked harder and more severe, going about his tasks with brisk focus.
He turned on the television, leaving the channel broadcasting footage of the pink lights above Neuschwanstein Castle playing as the shop's backdrop as he stashed the ice staff Nathan gave him behind the counter as an added safety measure. Numbered people could come here expecting to find solace, teleportation to Germany, and maybe gaining another echo. Anyone intending to cause trouble, however, wouldn't get far.
What: He returns to work with much better results than last time. Stop by for some coffee on your way to Fuessen via the teleporter, catch a glimpse of the pink lights on the shop's TV, or just say hi.
When: October 6th, all day.
Where: Espresso Yourself
Warnings: Nothing yet. Will be updated if necessary.
Though the weeks Lazarus had taken off had crawled by excruciatingly slowly, they had done the man good. Despite the fact that it was often said that no lasting change could happen quickly, he had tried his hardest to set positive ones in motion; he'd changed his diet, gotten his hands fixed with a combination of surgery and healing, and quit his "manageable" opiate habit cold turkey. Withdrawal had been miserable, but for the first morning in awhile, he woke up feeling clear-headed and something like well, meaning that he could, at last, trust himself to go back to work and be around people again. Even though he hadn't been completely alone during his time away- he would have gone absolutely insane if he'd tried to take on all of what he had by himself- he'd be lying if he claimed he wasn't a little bit uncertain about his rusty people skills. Torin, Richard, and Tony had helped him, along with others, but it wasn't exactly normal circumstances, or normal interaction.
Those who hadn't seen L for awhile might find his appearance jarring. He'd traded his beaten converse sneakers in for steel-toed boots, putting some weight and power into his steps; if he had to kick someone for any reason, they would feel it. His hands appeared and functioned normally for the first time in years, and those arriving early enough might have seen him toss his now-unneeded brace into storage. No one could possibly miss the numbers, his numbers, tattooed in neat black letters across his left palm, or the dusty sprinkling of grey beginning to grow and mingle with his inky black hair. Even though his week with the "flu" had been rough on him, draining him of color and vitality, he looked harder and more severe, going about his tasks with brisk focus.
He turned on the television, leaving the channel broadcasting footage of the pink lights above Neuschwanstein Castle playing as the shop's backdrop as he stashed the ice staff Nathan gave him behind the counter as an added safety measure. Numbered people could come here expecting to find solace, teleportation to Germany, and maybe gaining another echo. Anyone intending to cause trouble, however, wouldn't get far.