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Oct. 10th, 2012 11:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
3nanashiTrowa likes the garage. It's quiet, it's usually pretty empty of people, and it's got square kilometers full of fascinating machinery. Trowa is a mechanic at heart, and sometimes he privately misses the chance to get shoulder-deep in an engine. Milliways provides for that handily.
He's also Trowa, which means he also likes to explore it to make sure he has a clear and current mental map of all those square kilometers of deceptive and occasionally shifting geometry.
He rounds a corner, and --
. . .
That's new.
Trowa's eyes narrow slightly as he regards the wall. Its utilitarian concrete is covered with scratches and scrawled over with white chalk, delineating X-ed out circles and a single word:
S O L D I E R
He's also Trowa, which means he also likes to explore it to make sure he has a clear and current mental map of all those square kilometers of deceptive and occasionally shifting geometry.
He rounds a corner, and --
. . .
That's new.
Trowa's eyes narrow slightly as he regards the wall. Its utilitarian concrete is covered with scratches and scrawled over with white chalk, delineating X-ed out circles and a single word:
no subject
Date: 2012-10-14 08:41 am (UTC)And then it cuts off.
Because Trowa's at the elevators. He spins, back to the wall, his knife held at the ready, but the doors close without incident.
no subject
Date: 2012-10-14 08:52 am (UTC)She doesn't move to get up for a long time.
(When she does, it's with a marked lack of concern, even for the slivers of glass that have dug their way into her palm.
She gets up turned away from the dent in the car, and from the chalk writing.)
no subject
Date: 2012-10-14 08:53 am (UTC)So that could have gone better.