Making the Best, continued
Oct. 13th, 2005 01:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
avevale_intelligencerI don’t believe it. It’s raining as hard here as it is on Myst.
I don’t remember the journals saying anything about rain. Maybe the Stranger didn’t think it worth mentioning. Or maybe someone’s got to this Age as well. No, because the pumps and everything are still working. I don’t know.
On the other hand, the lads’ accommodations are completely watertight and quite palatial, and their power seems to be independent of the generator in the lighthouse. Which of course it would be. I can’t see Sirrus nipping out every ten minutes for a quick crank. Erm, if you know what I mean.
I imagine the Stranger, possibly scandalised by Sirrus’s decadence and Achenar’s brutality, only stayed long enough to find the requisite bits and then got out quick. Thus he didn’t spot the cunningly concealed secret doors in the walls that led to the ensuite bathrooms and wardrobes.
My gods, there’s hot water. I may be some time...
Later.--Achenar seems to be about my size, and has some fine piratical outfits, big kid that he is. Was.
I can’t describe how much better I feel now than I did an hour ago. Clean self, clean dry clothes, and I’m writing this reclining on the most luxurious bed I have ever encountered (Sirrus’s, of course). That’s it. I’m sleeping here from now on. There’s clean linen in a closet (haven’t found a washing machine, but one thing at a time) and a bath, with soap, and towels. For each room.
It never made sense to me that there was no trace of the usual offices, or of the boys’ possessions other than a few remnants. They certainly didn’t have time to come back and strip the place, and I can’t see Mum and Dad doing it. Still haven’t found a kitchen, but that may be on the ship itself.
And yes, dear journal, I know I ought to be checking out the pumps, looking for their fuel supply, seeing if I can demount the generator and the battery and still find my way down here, looking for stuff I can take back to Myst, all that good stuff...but I have spent the past week sleeping in my clothes on a packed-earth floor, propped up against a brick wall, with the smoke from an open fire getting into my eyes and lungs and the wind blowing rain in at me. I didn’t get a lot of rest. I’m going to make up for that. I declare today officially Sunday, and I’m frodding well having a lie-in.
I don’t remember the journals saying anything about rain. Maybe the Stranger didn’t think it worth mentioning. Or maybe someone’s got to this Age as well. No, because the pumps and everything are still working. I don’t know.
On the other hand, the lads’ accommodations are completely watertight and quite palatial, and their power seems to be independent of the generator in the lighthouse. Which of course it would be. I can’t see Sirrus nipping out every ten minutes for a quick crank. Erm, if you know what I mean.
I imagine the Stranger, possibly scandalised by Sirrus’s decadence and Achenar’s brutality, only stayed long enough to find the requisite bits and then got out quick. Thus he didn’t spot the cunningly concealed secret doors in the walls that led to the ensuite bathrooms and wardrobes.
My gods, there’s hot water. I may be some time...
Later.--Achenar seems to be about my size, and has some fine piratical outfits, big kid that he is. Was.
I can’t describe how much better I feel now than I did an hour ago. Clean self, clean dry clothes, and I’m writing this reclining on the most luxurious bed I have ever encountered (Sirrus’s, of course). That’s it. I’m sleeping here from now on. There’s clean linen in a closet (haven’t found a washing machine, but one thing at a time) and a bath, with soap, and towels. For each room.
It never made sense to me that there was no trace of the usual offices, or of the boys’ possessions other than a few remnants. They certainly didn’t have time to come back and strip the place, and I can’t see Mum and Dad doing it. Still haven’t found a kitchen, but that may be on the ship itself.
And yes, dear journal, I know I ought to be checking out the pumps, looking for their fuel supply, seeing if I can demount the generator and the battery and still find my way down here, looking for stuff I can take back to Myst, all that good stuff...but I have spent the past week sleeping in my clothes on a packed-earth floor, propped up against a brick wall, with the smoke from an open fire getting into my eyes and lungs and the wind blowing rain in at me. I didn’t get a lot of rest. I’m going to make up for that. I declare today officially Sunday, and I’m frodding well having a lie-in.