[Locked] A ruin's a rather stubborn / architectural style.
February so far has been cold, dismal, and trying, but not nearly so much as January or the tail end of December.
J is in the garage of Lynn's shop, ostensibly putting together a custom motorcycle engine for a customer and actually splitting his time between that and glaring at the half-finished morphogenic link severer in the corner, turning over equations in the back of his mind, and resisting the urge to go for the his journal and lock a groveling message to the TARDIS begging for help and apologizing for being too stupid and human to get it.
But he's made enough noise over the journals. And while it's gotten him this far - sound in theory and opportunity, with more information than the average person on just what sorts of chemical comas are believed to have what sorts of effects on Guardian Angels - the more he communicates, the more that communication is open to interception.
So that leaves him here.
Lynn's left the shop in her Riviera, carting one of her sculptures across the city to install it for a private buyer, and who even knows where the Goddamn Batman might be? So for the moment, it's an awkward time on an awkward day of the week, and the shop is empty except for J and the faint sounds of industry, the smell of engine oil and the hot dry whirr of a space heater, traffic going by outside and J's just-barely-unfinished machine.
J is in the garage of Lynn's shop, ostensibly putting together a custom motorcycle engine for a customer and actually splitting his time between that and glaring at the half-finished morphogenic link severer in the corner, turning over equations in the back of his mind, and resisting the urge to go for the his journal and lock a groveling message to the TARDIS begging for help and apologizing for being too stupid and human to get it.
But he's made enough noise over the journals. And while it's gotten him this far - sound in theory and opportunity, with more information than the average person on just what sorts of chemical comas are believed to have what sorts of effects on Guardian Angels - the more he communicates, the more that communication is open to interception.
So that leaves him here.
Lynn's left the shop in her Riviera, carting one of her sculptures across the city to install it for a private buyer, and who even knows where the Goddamn Batman might be? So for the moment, it's an awkward time on an awkward day of the week, and the shop is empty except for J and the faint sounds of industry, the smell of engine oil and the hot dry whirr of a space heater, traffic going by outside and J's just-barely-unfinished machine.