RPG - Anton & Sulli 3

[timbits_tootsie]

“Thank you.”

The elevator gives a cheerful sound as they arrive on the first floor, and Anton stops briefly to speak with the female receptionist from before. Sullivan lingers by the exit, waiting, looking awkward and out of place, relieved when they walk out of there and walking perhaps a little faster than he should when his head is so heavy and

Comments

[antonnachzehrer]

Anton follows him inside, not really sure what to expect, or why Sullivan is here. The house is very obviously abandoned; he could see that without knowing its been ten years since anybody lived here. He wonders why no one ever bothered to try and clean it up.

A strange prickly goes up his spine as he passes over the threshold, but it is gone the next moment.

{Like I said, hard stony exterior, big fluffy marshmallow center. You just have to be able to dig deep enough. :3}

[timbits_tootsie]

There is no power- the utility bills have not been paid for a decade-, and that leaves him wandering around in the dark. Even without light he knows his way, has lived in this house for fifteen years, more or less, and he slowly climbs the stairs to the second floor and the bedroom there. The stairs creak and moan under his feet, the bedroom door squeaking horribly when he pushes it open and steps inside

[antonnachzehrer]

He looks up. "Did you know that you've cursed this house?" he says. "Humans can't come in here; that's why nothing has been touched in so long."

It's a strange curse as well; loosely put together and, by monster standards, weak and flimsy, but it holds together extremely well, which is odd. He can't quite figure out how it happened, especially given that Sullivan doesn't know magic.

{I'm good! I went to the farmer's market this morning with my mother and we got a whole bunch of stuff, and I just finished reading a Vanity Fair article on Lady GaGa. How are you?}

[timbits_tootsie]

He frowns deeply. “A curse? But…I can’t do magic well enough to make curses,” he protests. Nothing feels out of place to him. “How could I have put a curse on my house?”

His temples throb with an oncoming headache. It drains the energy from him bit by bit, fueled by the fever that’s only rising; a thin layer of sweat had broken on his forehead and throat, causing him to shiver violently when there is a draft from the hallway. The bag is heavy in his arms and keeps slipping down, but he refuses to put take anything out from it.

(Oh, nice :3 I'm tired, but otherwise good! I'm going out to dinner now, tho, so I'll be back in two hours or so. See you then, I hope *hug*)