[Ah, a basement; probably still better lit artificially than the Sixth bunker with its couple of naked light bulbs on strings, anyway. Palamedes has found that most people are concerned with being able to see things all the time, while he's habitually covering windows on each visit to the Archives to protect the paper. And control the temperature.
So, normal things. He hums, fingering the sleeve of a solid gray sweater.]
I've got a torch somewhere in my bag, if you like. [And,] I — hmm.
[He hastily rethinks "I don't go outside," because it's patently untrue now. The weather now is milder than the ice upon his first arrival to Trench, and he'd handled that masterfully (that is to say, bleeding on it), so. More accurately, he's not used to weather.
Idly, his gaze slides away from the cozy sweaters to the nearby rack of outerwear. Hnn.]
no subject
So, normal things. He hums, fingering the sleeve of a solid gray sweater.]
I've got a torch somewhere in my bag, if you like. [And,] I — hmm.
[He hastily rethinks "I don't go outside," because it's patently untrue now. The weather now is milder than the ice upon his first arrival to Trench, and he'd handled that masterfully (that is to say, bleeding on it), so. More accurately, he's not used to weather.
Idly, his gaze slides away from the cozy sweaters to the nearby rack of outerwear. Hnn.]
How much heavier?