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tampered2006-05-21 01:28 pm
dertodesbutler.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2006-05-21 01:28 pm
Log: Ongoing.
When: Sunday morning (now, or seven hours ago GMT).
Rating: No idea. I for one would rather keep it PG.
Characters: Confirmed; Walter (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
dertodesbutler), Kyou (xglowingxsoulx), V(velated_v). Cathedral-dwelling Trinity Blood-muns, and anyone else, optional.
Summary: The promised cathedral excursion.
Log:
Walter sat on the weathered cathedral steps and looked at his watch, then dusted glass off his new sunday waistcoat (peacock, with bottle green trim - quite a find). Still not entirely trusting the doors after yesterday's fiasco, despite the fact that they seemed to be back to normal, he had exited the flat via the window, and abseiled down the side of the building to the ground. It was a shame about the window, he had taped it up, but he doubted there was a decent glazier anywhere in the city. He'd have to take a whole window from somewhere else in the building, and that would take at least a crowbar. After leaving the apartment, carefully hooded and with longer gloves on against the sunlight, he had shimmed up a lamp-post to get his bearings on the cathedral and headed off in what he hoped was the right direction. Eventually, it was, and the door of the North Transept appeared before him. The door's arch was curiously circular in shape, indicating a pre-12th century design as a base for the cathedral, but with obviously medieval additions, such as a large lady chapel on the east wing. The structure was rather similar to an expanded Chester cathedral, with elements of Chartres and Notre Dame, and possibly even a disturbing hint of Sagrada Familia.
He looked at his watch again, and then at the cathedral grounds. The gravestone of "Derek Arthur Spoonbottom, husband, father and faithful dog, sorely missed" stared back at him, briefly making him contemplate the importance of putting the comma in the right place.
Now he was alone again, the ticking of the omnipresent metronome was a gradually crescending presence. Without noticing it, he had got into the habit of humming something using it as a timekeeper. Today, out of cheerful optimism, it was "O God, Our Help in Ages Past". The wind among the waxy-red berried yew trees moaned gently, neither mournful, nor joyful, like an invalid who sees welcome death awaiting him.
Then, simultaneously with another tick of the metronome, the minute hand hit 7.50.
Rating: No idea. I for one would rather keep it PG.
Characters: Confirmed; Walter (
dertodesbutler), Kyou (xglowingxsoulx), V(velated_v). Cathedral-dwelling Trinity Blood-muns, and anyone else, optional. Summary: The promised cathedral excursion.
Log:
Walter sat on the weathered cathedral steps and looked at his watch, then dusted glass off his new sunday waistcoat (peacock, with bottle green trim - quite a find). Still not entirely trusting the doors after yesterday's fiasco, despite the fact that they seemed to be back to normal, he had exited the flat via the window, and abseiled down the side of the building to the ground. It was a shame about the window, he had taped it up, but he doubted there was a decent glazier anywhere in the city. He'd have to take a whole window from somewhere else in the building, and that would take at least a crowbar. After leaving the apartment, carefully hooded and with longer gloves on against the sunlight, he had shimmed up a lamp-post to get his bearings on the cathedral and headed off in what he hoped was the right direction. Eventually, it was, and the door of the North Transept appeared before him. The door's arch was curiously circular in shape, indicating a pre-12th century design as a base for the cathedral, but with obviously medieval additions, such as a large lady chapel on the east wing. The structure was rather similar to an expanded Chester cathedral, with elements of Chartres and Notre Dame, and possibly even a disturbing hint of Sagrada Familia.
He looked at his watch again, and then at the cathedral grounds. The gravestone of "Derek Arthur Spoonbottom, husband, father and faithful dog, sorely missed" stared back at him, briefly making him contemplate the importance of putting the comma in the right place.
Now he was alone again, the ticking of the omnipresent metronome was a gradually crescending presence. Without noticing it, he had got into the habit of humming something using it as a timekeeper. Today, out of cheerful optimism, it was "O God, Our Help in Ages Past". The wind among the waxy-red berried yew trees moaned gently, neither mournful, nor joyful, like an invalid who sees welcome death awaiting him.
Then, simultaneously with another tick of the metronome, the minute hand hit 7.50.