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capeandcowllogs2011-04-30 02:36 pm
the-enemy-ace.livejournal.com) wrote in capeandcowllogs2011-04-30 02:36 pm
Entry tags:
A Place to Lay Your Head
WHO: Aaron Grey and Hans Von Hammer
WHERE: Von Hammer's hangar/residence
WHEN: Backdated to just after Aaron Grey's return to the city
WARNINGS: None.
SUMMARY: Mr.Grey requires a place to stay. Von Hammer is willing to oblige.
FORMAT: Whatever.
He sat back in his chair, sipping tea. It was, he thought, a rather good blend. Indian, according to the package, imported. He would never quite get tired of that. The taste of the world brought to him. It was much like when he first arrived, when Agatha had offered him real coffee. Living in a world without blockade was truly irreplaceable.
In shirtsleeves and vest, which to him qualified as casual wear, he sat listening to the record player. A rescue, he had found it thrown away, in working order. The Mahler that was playing was exquisite. That, too, he had missed. Music, art - culture. It was good being here, it really was.
He sat up when there was a knock at the hangar door. Part of it he had partitioned off into living spaces, the rest was where his aircraft were kept. A bit drafty on occasion, but it meant he was close to his work. Nothing was worse than the helpless lost seconds of needing to get airborne and not being able to.
He opened the door, only mildly surprised at the newcomer.
"Ah, Herr Grey, welcome."
WHERE: Von Hammer's hangar/residence
WHEN: Backdated to just after Aaron Grey's return to the city
WARNINGS: None.
SUMMARY: Mr.Grey requires a place to stay. Von Hammer is willing to oblige.
FORMAT: Whatever.
He sat back in his chair, sipping tea. It was, he thought, a rather good blend. Indian, according to the package, imported. He would never quite get tired of that. The taste of the world brought to him. It was much like when he first arrived, when Agatha had offered him real coffee. Living in a world without blockade was truly irreplaceable.
In shirtsleeves and vest, which to him qualified as casual wear, he sat listening to the record player. A rescue, he had found it thrown away, in working order. The Mahler that was playing was exquisite. That, too, he had missed. Music, art - culture. It was good being here, it really was.
He sat up when there was a knock at the hangar door. Part of it he had partitioned off into living spaces, the rest was where his aircraft were kept. A bit drafty on occasion, but it meant he was close to his work. Nothing was worse than the helpless lost seconds of needing to get airborne and not being able to.
He opened the door, only mildly surprised at the newcomer.
"Ah, Herr Grey, welcome."