Tesserae: Tickets to a Nightmare (Open for All)
Dec 24, 2011 1:51:49 GMT -5
Post by Lockjocker on Dec 24, 2011 1:51:49 GMT -5
T I M E - 7 : 0 0 Hrs.
On the eastern side of District Eleven, inside a small, run-down house, a thump is heard faintly from the last of the three rooms hiding inside of the building. The Thump came from a young man at the age of 16 with deep tan skin who had just fallen off of what he calls a bed, landing on his chest. Gorthen Roxongroans as he turns to face the ceiling, and sits up, rubbing his deep brown haired head. He looks around the room dazedly and grumbles slightly as he stands up and walks to the door, grabbing a pair of rugged pants, and an old shirt from the pile he keeps there. He begins to strip from his Night clothes and get dressed in his Day clothes. Once he finishes dressing, he walks back to the straw-filled bed, kneels down and pulls out from under it, a folded brown cloak. unfolding it with one shake, he grabs two corners and ties it around his neck, the cloak fitting almost perfectly on him.
Once he's ready, he walks out of his room and across the small living room/dining room/kitchen, and stops right in front of the small door that leads to his Mother's room. Slowly grabbing the doorknob, he opens it and peeks inside, spying his mother, a pale, fragile woman, sleeping softly and soundly, her bron hair messily splayed across the only pillow in the house. She continues to breathe in and out as she sleeps. Gorthen pauses a bit, looking solemnly at his mother before closing the door again, walking to the Stove in the kitchen to cook up some Breakfast for her.
Once Gorthen's set down the small breakfast of flat bread and fried pumpkin seeds for her at the foot of her bed, (which he retrieved from the pumpkins he harvested before the winter) He walks out of the Front door and looks out at the Cold street, his cloak wrapped tightly around him. Gorthen looks up at the sky. The weather's snowy and cold, yet not cold enough for the snow to stick to the ground, or remain for too long. He growls in his throat.
Cold weather...not pretty, just bothersome.
Once he's done thinking about the weather, he begins to walk to the east along the road, his bare feet freezing with each step, yet no complaints coming from his mouth.
On the eastern side of District Eleven, inside a small, run-down house, a thump is heard faintly from the last of the three rooms hiding inside of the building. The Thump came from a young man at the age of 16 with deep tan skin who had just fallen off of what he calls a bed, landing on his chest. Gorthen Roxongroans as he turns to face the ceiling, and sits up, rubbing his deep brown haired head. He looks around the room dazedly and grumbles slightly as he stands up and walks to the door, grabbing a pair of rugged pants, and an old shirt from the pile he keeps there. He begins to strip from his Night clothes and get dressed in his Day clothes. Once he finishes dressing, he walks back to the straw-filled bed, kneels down and pulls out from under it, a folded brown cloak. unfolding it with one shake, he grabs two corners and ties it around his neck, the cloak fitting almost perfectly on him.
Once he's ready, he walks out of his room and across the small living room/dining room/kitchen, and stops right in front of the small door that leads to his Mother's room. Slowly grabbing the doorknob, he opens it and peeks inside, spying his mother, a pale, fragile woman, sleeping softly and soundly, her bron hair messily splayed across the only pillow in the house. She continues to breathe in and out as she sleeps. Gorthen pauses a bit, looking solemnly at his mother before closing the door again, walking to the Stove in the kitchen to cook up some Breakfast for her.
Once Gorthen's set down the small breakfast of flat bread and fried pumpkin seeds for her at the foot of her bed, (which he retrieved from the pumpkins he harvested before the winter) He walks out of the Front door and looks out at the Cold street, his cloak wrapped tightly around him. Gorthen looks up at the sky. The weather's snowy and cold, yet not cold enough for the snow to stick to the ground, or remain for too long. He growls in his throat.
Cold weather...not pretty, just bothersome.
Once he's done thinking about the weather, he begins to walk to the east along the road, his bare feet freezing with each step, yet no complaints coming from his mouth.
