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Well, that was pretty swell, wasn't it?
[The voice is a cheery one. Kay's sitting out in the living room of the house, chatting into the book with a stack of papers on either side of her. Seemed like a good day to try editing somewhere other than her room.]
It was great seeing everyone at the opening of Cloud Nine on Friday. Weekends from here on out, think about stopping in and...what the--?
[Someone listening especially carefully would have heard a muffled bang, the sound of a door being forced open. She stares up at the three shining metal men walking toward her, inexorably toward her, her eyes wide with a dawning horror. Their build is familiar; their modus operandi, more so. These ones travel in packs, but no one said fiction was perfect. Her voice grows higher and quieter, closer to a breath than anything, a note of panic entering her words.]
Oh, my God, you aren't--you can't be--
[But they keep coming toward her, with solemn steps, and she's convinced entirely that she knows what they are. Droids, sure, but more importantly--far more importantly--a Fury. She hadn't known it was Furies that collected people to take them away.]
Oh, my God.
I wrote you.
[The journal feed cuts off then, and very soon, there's nothing left but a floor and davenport scattered liberally with sheets of white paper, covered in typeset words marked over with blue pencil.]
( ooc note )
[The voice is a cheery one. Kay's sitting out in the living room of the house, chatting into the book with a stack of papers on either side of her. Seemed like a good day to try editing somewhere other than her room.]
It was great seeing everyone at the opening of Cloud Nine on Friday. Weekends from here on out, think about stopping in and...what the--?
[Someone listening especially carefully would have heard a muffled bang, the sound of a door being forced open. She stares up at the three shining metal men walking toward her, inexorably toward her, her eyes wide with a dawning horror. Their build is familiar; their modus operandi, more so. These ones travel in packs, but no one said fiction was perfect. Her voice grows higher and quieter, closer to a breath than anything, a note of panic entering her words.]
Oh, my God, you aren't--you can't be--
[But they keep coming toward her, with solemn steps, and she's convinced entirely that she knows what they are. Droids, sure, but more importantly--far more importantly--a Fury. She hadn't known it was Furies that collected people to take them away.]
Oh, my God.
I wrote you.
[The journal feed cuts off then, and very soon, there's nothing left but a floor and davenport scattered liberally with sheets of white paper, covered in typeset words marked over with blue pencil.]
( ooc note )
