we are all broken
Magical stairs sound great, and Finn would say so if it weren’t for the fact that he can’t form words right now. He leans on the opposite wall, having to take off his guitar (he leaves it leaning there, by the entrance to the stairwell, so he won’t be so encumbered). ”We go look for it, I suppose,” he whispers back with a lopsided smile, straightening up once he’s caught his breath and stepping forward.
It isn’t so much of a surprise that the Spyglass is relatively quiet on his feet, his many years of research and library haunting lending a softness to his steps. Being a whore probably helps, too, reminding him to watch where he walks and not to brush up on anything. Still, even if he’s trying for silence, he’s not trying for sleuthing, and so it’s with a deep breath of courage that he finally calls out.
”Hello?” A hand raps against the door, as if to check if anyone is there.
It isn’t so much of a surprise that the Spyglass is relatively quiet on his feet, his many years of research and library haunting lending a softness to his steps. Being a whore probably helps, too, reminding him to watch where he walks and not to brush up on anything. Still, even if he’s trying for silence, he’s not trying for sleuthing, and so it’s with a deep breath of courage that he finally calls out.
”Hello?” A hand raps against the door, as if to check if anyone is there.
that’s how the light gets in
