finn
it always feels more quiet in the dark
Sometimes, the bell in the Old Brooklyn Fire Headquarters still goes off. Nobody really knows why. There are stories, of course, but aren't there always? Regardless, at times in the dead of night, it screams through the stone archways and down the corridors, until he feels it jumping along every one of his nerve endings, chasing the sleep from his bones.
Only, when he awakens with a start in the small room adjacent to his office on the 3rd floor, it always transpires that the bell hasn't made a sound after all. Not even when he goes to check it. Not even when he stands for what feels like hours, just to make sure.
The bell has not gone off tonight, but Finn still hasn't slept. It means he is already awake (and has been for some time) when the mail arrives. There's coffee brewing in the pot, and he will almost swat it off the countertop as stormy eyes scan the note that has made it in with the letters.
A secretary?
Finn doesn't require a secretary.
No, this can't be right.
With his necktie around his shoulders, his braces loose at his sides and his shirt untucked, he rushes out and into his office, which is all dim light and tall, skinny shadows and wall cabinets. But there's no secretary to be found.
Finn is neither early nor late, given that this is his office and his business, and yet he still expected someone to be here.
Only, when he awakens with a start in the small room adjacent to his office on the 3rd floor, it always transpires that the bell hasn't made a sound after all. Not even when he goes to check it. Not even when he stands for what feels like hours, just to make sure.
The bell has not gone off tonight, but Finn still hasn't slept. It means he is already awake (and has been for some time) when the mail arrives. There's coffee brewing in the pot, and he will almost swat it off the countertop as stormy eyes scan the note that has made it in with the letters.
A secretary?
Finn doesn't require a secretary.
No, this can't be right.
With his necktie around his shoulders, his braces loose at his sides and his shirt untucked, he rushes out and into his office, which is all dim light and tall, skinny shadows and wall cabinets. But there's no secretary to be found.
Finn is neither early nor late, given that this is his office and his business, and yet he still expected someone to be here.
it always feels so stark
