i. awaken (v). [closed to wrathion] [ Something is wrong. Wolfe knows this immediately, before he even opens his eyes—because he has to open his eyes; his eyesight doesn't suddenly snap into functioning. And he's lying down, which means something is doubly wrong; he'd been Translating from the Serapeum in London to Philadelphia and Christopher Wolfe hasn't needed a recovery period from Translation in years, especially when heading into chaotic situations where the lives of his students were at stake. Wolfe is up and out of bed in seconds, barely taking the time to notice his strange pajamas before he's stalking out of the room, bent on finding out exactly what's going on. ]
Nic? [ A pause, and then: ] Brightwell?
[ They're the two most likely to have regained their consciousness and remained close, he thinks, and when neither respond his sense of foreboding only grows, especially as he steps into the living room and sees photos on the wall featuring himself and a young man—the same young man that he sees now. ]
Who are you?
ii. alight (adj). [ Wolfe is already in a mood as he's shepherded to the tree lighting ceremony, a briefcase in hand that's full of books from the Santa Rosita Public Library. He wouldn't have even gone if he'd had his say, but the librarians had shown up to usher him out of the library so that they could close and head over. Once they'd realized he wasn't aware of the ceremony, they'd insisted on walking over with him to ensure he didn't get lost. His eyes narrow as he watches Mayor Clarke, taking careful note of those with enough clout to demand a presence on the stage and marking the uniformed men in his mind. Likely this town's equivalent to the Garda, he thinks, though they look much different than the uniformed men and women of his home.
Once the ceremony is over, he turns to go, but Wolfe pauses at seeing the growing line to purchase the smaller aluminum trees. Gauging the people, he approaches someone who seems as though they might also have woken up here unexpectedly. ]
There are better things to waste your money on than aluminum trees.
[ Why? ]
iii. abstain (v). [ Wolfe is a logical man. Things work in the way they're supposed to. There are laws about physics, and relativity, and mathematics, and any other topic you can think to examine. And none, not one, of those laws account for opening your bedroom door and stepping into a freezing riotous nightmare.
Wolfe is accustomed to Egypt's weather. He's not unfamiliar with the cold (ask him about his first venture to Moscow—or rather, don't), but it doesn't help with his foul mood one bit, and each time he opens the door throughout the month he's a little angrier, until finally: ]
Has it occurred to anybody here that some of us might not celebrate Christmas?
[ He needs a drink. ]
iv. apéritif (n). [ While Wolfe may show up to the gala in his customary black suit, he (perhaps surprisingly) accepts one of the HHA's loaner jackets with only a displeased frown and no further fuss. Wolfe has yet to place his finger on the pulse of Santa Rosita, and if there's one thing he's learned over the years it's how to survive. The jacket is tacky at best, perhaps more suited to the Brightwell patriarch than him, but if it will keep the people here from being suspicious of him, fine.
Similar to his behavior at the tree lighting ceremony, Wolfe will spend a decent amount of time observing the movers and shakers of the town, paying particular attention to Clarke's speech. Afterward, he notes in an undertone (but audible to any characters who might like to hear!): ]
1: So it's Mayor Clarke I have to thank for the midnight trip.
2: The captain of the Garda and the mayor are at odds.
v. wildcard (v, n wild card). [ You know the drill! Likewise, feel free to modify any of the above—interrupt, run into him at a different time during or outside of the prompts, I'm good with anything. journeys for any questions! ]
Wolfe | The Great Library | OTA!
[ Something is wrong. Wolfe knows this immediately, before he even opens his eyes—because he has to open his eyes; his eyesight doesn't suddenly snap into functioning. And he's lying down, which means something is doubly wrong; he'd been Translating from the Serapeum in London to Philadelphia and Christopher Wolfe hasn't needed a recovery period from Translation in years, especially when heading into chaotic situations where the lives of his students were at stake. Wolfe is up and out of bed in seconds, barely taking the time to notice his strange pajamas before he's stalking out of the room, bent on finding out exactly what's going on. ]
Nic? [ A pause, and then: ] Brightwell?
[ They're the two most likely to have regained their consciousness and remained close, he thinks, and when neither respond his sense of foreboding only grows, especially as he steps into the living room and sees photos on the wall featuring himself and a young man—the same young man that he sees now. ]
Who are you?
ii. alight (adj).
[ Wolfe is already in a mood as he's shepherded to the tree lighting ceremony, a briefcase in hand that's full of books from the Santa Rosita Public Library. He wouldn't have even gone if he'd had his say, but the librarians had shown up to usher him out of the library so that they could close and head over. Once they'd realized he wasn't aware of the ceremony, they'd insisted on walking over with him to ensure he didn't get lost. His eyes narrow as he watches Mayor Clarke, taking careful note of those with enough clout to demand a presence on the stage and marking the uniformed men in his mind. Likely this town's equivalent to the Garda, he thinks, though they look much different than the uniformed men and women of his home.
Once the ceremony is over, he turns to go, but Wolfe pauses at seeing the growing line to purchase the smaller aluminum trees. Gauging the people, he approaches someone who seems as though they might also have woken up here unexpectedly. ]
There are better things to waste your money on than aluminum trees.
[ Why? ]
iii. abstain (v).
[ Wolfe is a logical man. Things work in the way they're supposed to. There are laws about physics, and relativity, and mathematics, and any other topic you can think to examine. And none, not one, of those laws account for opening your bedroom door and stepping into a freezing riotous nightmare.
Wolfe is accustomed to Egypt's weather. He's not unfamiliar with the cold (ask him about his first venture to Moscow—or rather, don't), but it doesn't help with his foul mood one bit, and each time he opens the door throughout the month he's a little angrier, until finally: ]
Has it occurred to anybody here that some of us might not celebrate Christmas?
[ He needs a drink. ]
iv. apéritif (n).
[ While Wolfe may show up to the gala in his customary black suit, he (perhaps surprisingly) accepts one of the HHA's loaner jackets with only a displeased frown and no further fuss. Wolfe has yet to place his finger on the pulse of Santa Rosita, and if there's one thing he's learned over the years it's how to survive. The jacket is tacky at best, perhaps more suited to the Brightwell patriarch than him, but if it will keep the people here from being suspicious of him, fine.
Similar to his behavior at the tree lighting ceremony, Wolfe will spend a decent amount of time observing the movers and shakers of the town, paying particular attention to Clarke's speech. Afterward, he notes in an undertone (but audible to any characters who might like to hear!): ]
1: So it's Mayor Clarke I have to thank for the midnight trip.
2: The captain of the Garda and the mayor are at odds.
v. wildcard (v, n wild card).
[ You know the drill! Likewise, feel free to modify any of the above—interrupt, run into him at a different time during or outside of the prompts, I'm good with anything.