needsaparrot (
needsaparrot) wrote2008-03-15 12:59 pm
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MCA Roof, Saturday Morning
After everything that had been going on this week, Xander knew better than to wander around town alone, but staying inside the building was making him want to wear a circular track in the lobby carpet as he read and re-read the letters from the past he'd received from Mel, Willow and Bridge, trying to see if there was some clue he was missing because he wasn't Willow or Bridge. He wasn't the brains of the operation. He was the guy who was okay with an axe and getting better with a crossbow again and awesome at providing sarcasm and pastries, none of which was going to get the people he loved back from the past.
Eventually, he shook his head and headed up to the roof, letters in hand. At least there he could get some air and maybe think a little clearer, and he'd have the best view in town; not like he wouldn't see any angel statues heading for the building, from that high up. He leaned against the waist-high wall overlooking the streets below, smoothing out Bridge's second letter, the one that made him want to punch bricks, to re-read it yet again.
[OOC: For one. Muahaha.]
Eventually, he shook his head and headed up to the roof, letters in hand. At least there he could get some air and maybe think a little clearer, and he'd have the best view in town; not like he wouldn't see any angel statues heading for the building, from that high up. He leaned against the waist-high wall overlooking the streets below, smoothing out Bridge's second letter, the one that made him want to punch bricks, to re-read it yet again.
[OOC: For one. Muahaha.]
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He might not have seen it there before.
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Well, he saw it, but only out of the corner of his eye. One more twitchy feeling that something was slightly out of place was nothing new, this week.
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But it was harmless. Really.
The man should pay no attention.
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And pointing at him.
Waiting.
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Reminding him that he should have known better than to go outside.
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He crouched and fumbled around for his phone without looking down, eye wide and trained on the frozen angel. His fingers hit paper, which he grabbed, but no phone. Cement, cement, more paper, and his hand slipped as two sheets of hotel stationery slid against each other, sending him sprawling. Blinking.
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The angel loomed over him, face contorted, hands reaching out menacingly.
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The angel stood on the rooftop, eyes covered once again.
Alone.