through this disappearing land
The Forks usually manages to be bustling on any day, packed full of cars and people, but the advisory against travel and the fact that most methods of transportation aren't working as of the recent cold snap, people just aren't here. A handful of diehards and fools braved the cold (and the something-else, the urge to just settle in and wait things out) but they're all inside one of the complexes. The parking lot off to the side, next to a pile of gravel, is therefore unobserved, which is a very good thing.
Ginger's coordinates weren't quite right; the point they take you to is about a foot off the ground, but that she didn't accidentally kill anyone PINpointing them into the side of a building is an accomplishment.
The sky is a flat, bland grey above, and the city is hushed. Even the low murmur of sound left is muffled strangely, and the air isn't just bitterly cold, it's almost heavy. There's no wind to speak of, here, just a dull and oppressive stillness.
Still, nothing obviously dangerous, right? Not yet, anyway.
Good luck.
Ginger's coordinates weren't quite right; the point they take you to is about a foot off the ground, but that she didn't accidentally kill anyone PINpointing them into the side of a building is an accomplishment.
The sky is a flat, bland grey above, and the city is hushed. Even the low murmur of sound left is muffled strangely, and the air isn't just bitterly cold, it's almost heavy. There's no wind to speak of, here, just a dull and oppressive stillness.
Still, nothing obviously dangerous, right? Not yet, anyway.
Good luck.