Nov. 14th, 2009

screwloose: (Pondering)
On my way to Lost Island. Lovely vacation spot - apparently if I'm in the magnetic field at the centre of the island for longer than 20 minutes my flesh will be stripped from my bones. Guess where I have to go?

I'm expecting to encounter some resistance from Arachnophobia, but I don't think it's anything we can't handle. Hopefully we can slip in, get what we're looking for, and get out before anyone knows we're there.

[Locked to Birkin]

Don't wait up, cupcake~
screwloose: (Melancholy)
Stein sat on the floor in his favourite laboratory, the cold of the concrete soaking into his body and leaching the warmth from it even through his clothes and lab coat. He hadn't turned on the lights when he entered the room, so it was nearly pitch-black except for a small square of light that lay across the examination table in the middle.

At some point when talking to Birkin, he had knocked over a rolling tray table, and several beakers had shattered, sprinkling glass like caltrops across the floor.

His phone sat on the floor next to him, forgotten. At thirty he had stopped counting, but Birkin still wasn't here.

He sat against the wall, humming to himself and flinching away from dark movements and shapes that only he could see, his eyes darting around restlessly in their sockets.

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screwloose

October 2011

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