finn
it always feels more quiet in the dark
"A what?" Finn clearly believes she's said a real word, one that he's never heard before, and if the way his expression remains quietly perplexed doesn't alert her to his lack of understanding, very little will. Luckily the matter of the telephone refocuses his attention, and he tilts his head at her desk. It certainly looks like his telephone... had he moved it in preparation for a secretary? That seems logical.
"My apologies, I must have... oh, yes. The file." Giving a quiet thanks, he accepts said file and sinks down to sit at his desk, even if the bottom of his pants and his shoes are still wet. "Mr. Johnson is a curious sort of man," he says quietly, almost to himself - almost. "He has been calling me on the telephone once per week for as long as I can remember, with various sets of coordinates, and different names. I have no idea what they mean, but he pays me to keep them in a file for him."
And sure enough, there is an entire list of numbers and names when Finn opens the manila folder, written in his own hand. "Thank you for taking his message." Glancing up, he blinks at the offered cloth. "For my cheek?"
Accepting it, he dabs at his cheek where, sure enough, the cut is still there. "How clumsy of me," he murmurs, keeping the cloth pressed there as he glances back up. "I don't believe I caught your name."
"My apologies, I must have... oh, yes. The file." Giving a quiet thanks, he accepts said file and sinks down to sit at his desk, even if the bottom of his pants and his shoes are still wet. "Mr. Johnson is a curious sort of man," he says quietly, almost to himself - almost. "He has been calling me on the telephone once per week for as long as I can remember, with various sets of coordinates, and different names. I have no idea what they mean, but he pays me to keep them in a file for him."
And sure enough, there is an entire list of numbers and names when Finn opens the manila folder, written in his own hand. "Thank you for taking his message." Glancing up, he blinks at the offered cloth. "For my cheek?"
Accepting it, he dabs at his cheek where, sure enough, the cut is still there. "How clumsy of me," he murmurs, keeping the cloth pressed there as he glances back up. "I don't believe I caught your name."
it always feels so stark
