TLV Inbox

[greatoldjohn]

[in a rather deep voice] "This is John Doe. Please leave your message. I'll get back to you as soon as I can. I may respond in text if I'm currently with Arthur. Apologies."

Now Moved To: Inbox: Act II - please tag in there!

Comments

[greatoldjohn]

[Level Eight. 806, actually.]

He considers for a moment whether there's anything else they should bring, eyes scanning the room. Then he pauses.

[Scissors. There's some on the desk. I'll keep them in the left pocket.]

If he needs to, he'll stab the fuck out of something. It's not much, but it's something.

[lestercraft]

Ah. Well. At least it's down stairs.

"Better than nothing." He'll move back over to the desk, finding the couch with his arm so he doesn't crack his shin against it, and lets John grab them before he makes his way out the door - and makes sure to lock it behind him.

"Is there anything you want from yours, John?" he asks quietly, already on alert with a tight grip on his cane, though he won't necessarily need to use it with John here.

[greatoldjohn]

[No. And we shouldn't waste any more time. Let's get moving, Arthur.]

He remembers his manners a moment later.

[Thank you for asking, however.]

[lestercraft]

Given the tension already winding sharp through all his limbs like lightning (and there's an off-hand thought to curse at that fucking desert snake-monster later), he doesn't pay the brusqueness any mind.

"Right." And he'll head for the stairs. Six flights is a ways to go.

[greatoldjohn]

And down they go.