The House of the Arch

Funny how what had seemed like more than a year's accumulation of stuff when Door moved into and out of the cabins isn't taking very long to pack tonight, even with Chimney fluttering about making questionably helpful suggestions in Pigeon.

Then again, it's not that she doesn't have a boatload of books and clothing and random recipes for pie. It's just that most of it isn't going into the couple of bags she can safely carry with her, since she can't just take it all home. Home isn't safe.

But... even though she's sorting slowly, taking more time to decide whether something goes or stays than she probably needs to, Door can't help breaking into a smile every so often. Home isn't safe, but after last night, for the first time since she came here a year ago, there's a chance that home is... home.

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[OOC: Open for anyone who wants to say goodbye; if you think she'd have left a handwavy call or e-mail to let you know she's leaving, then she did. Door's heading home for good tonight, though there's likely to be a few pigeon-mails back to Fandom and possibly a further adventure or two, so feel free to keep her journal friended if you like.]

Door is standing by the window, watching a pigeon fly away. This is fairly usual for her, though the slightly sour, suspicious look on her face isn't. Might have something to do with the fact that she's sent Chimney out five times tonight and every time the message attached contained any variation of ( this ), she'd ended up with an armful of flappy, confused robot bird (//Bounced off the sky!//) and no letter home.

The last one, the one she's watching finally wing its way up and off the island, reads simply:

School is possibly turning into a prison really annoying not letting me complain about it fine. No news here, unless you care that I kissed a small furry person of indeterminate gender. Same there? Keep safe, Door


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[OOC: Establishy, but open until sleep eats me.]

Door's lying on her bed reading. Not for classes, though she supposes there's that list of piecrust recipes she could be reviewing. She's just reading for fun. You know. That story about the witchy kids at boarding school.

No, the other one. The one there was no one in line for. Magic Month.
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[OOC: For grenfelzer, but open as well. Though I flee for 15 minutes or so. *flees*]

Outside the open window, there is a pigeon flying off with a note: De Carabas: Still well, if witness to the occasional mutiny and the trauma of former princesses. Though we're still attending summer classes, we've moved back to the dormitories (room smelled oddly of cow today), and only go out to the campgrounds for class now. Am off to Scotland for the weekend - Above, but not our Above. Perfectly safe except perhaps for the vampires.

...also, aliens blew up the school. I may have forgotten to mention that in my previous letter. Keep well, and send news if you have it. yrs, Door, House of Arch

Inside the open window, there is a girl sitting on the sill, enjoying the non-cow-scented breeze.
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[OOC: Open for a few hours, at least, until I give in and crash!]

Door, glad for the week of relaxation after so much activity at the end of the term, spent the morning lazing about. She only realized once she started going through her things deciding what to pack, how much she's accumulated for someone who arrived in Fandom with just the clothes on her back. Thus, she doesn't make it down to the cabins until the evening.

What looks to the naked eye like a pigeon flutters over her shoulder as she walks in and drops her bags on the nearest unoccupied unless I missed a post in which case happy to pick a new cubby lalala bed.

It almost seems a shame after all that work to start un-packing her things. Still, it also seems like the proper way to start a new adventure, so that's what she's doing.
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[OOC: Open for cabinmates! I know, I know, contain your shock.]

This time, if someone were to peek over Door's shoulder, they'd see her finishing up ( the lamest linkdrop ever. )

They'd be especially bored, if they did, though.

Every so often she glances distrustfully at a row of socks tacked to the bulletin-board behind her desk with pencils. They're not moving, no, but they might.
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[OOC: Open like a not-closed item.]

Door would scream, if she could, but currently she's running through the tunnels of London Below, chased by something she can't put a name to because she has no breath to name it with. Pity there's no protective talisman against this darkness, nor anything coming to carry her away from it. Even the trains are still and silent as she races through the Underground. Every door she passes is locked, and the touch of her hands does nothing; her fingers slide through the keyholes, useless and insubstantial, but the doors themselves stay solid, keeping her out. So she runs, and it gets colder and harder to breathe, and she runs some more.

~

Funny thing... one of several.. about Door's family? They heal really fast. Especially after a good night's sleep.

That's pretty interesting for the shadows currently hiding out under her bed, because all they have to do is creep up, steal some warmth, then slide back down and wait for her to recover.

Of course they're hungry and not entirely patient. Plus? Shuddering under the bedclothes as you grow more and more translucent and less and less... there, is not exactly a good night's sleep.
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[Just establishy; to the roomie, she just looks like she's feeling ill and hiding under the covers trying to get some sleep.]

Door?

Still waiting around in her room.

If anyone cared.

Little less pleased now, though.

After two days.
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[Establishy only, la.]

The corridors are full of sound now, and Door's glad of that. After meeting for final presentations and final exams, classes had ended. Though birthday and holiday parties had provided some excitement, and Seely and Cally had certainly done their parts to keep things interesting, there hadn't been a lot of people to talk to with so many gone home on holiday.

Though the break's been relaxing, the noise of friends returning and new students arriving is welcome, making the place seem less empty and bringing with it the excitement of a new season of things and people to get to know. Door's left her door open to listen to it as she looks over the course catalog for the new term, as well as to welcome any new or familiar faces that might wander by.

Door's decided to try a different way of arranging her journal, just for variety.

( Cut for linkdrop, as you do )

And now she's lying on her bed reading Dickens and wondering if Tiny Tim could get any more disgustingly cute. And she likes children.

[Door's ...uh. The door's open. As is the post.]