Testing, testing, 1, 2, 3...

[consultmybooks]

[The voice that comes over the journal sounds...decidedly anxious. Certainly unhappy, confused, and generally out of his element. Giles has never done well under such circumstances, never done well with sudden changes of environs, especially when that change was a dark, dingy back room of a crumbling mansion to a cozy little village in the bright, if cold, sunlight.]

Right. This is, um, certainly new. Well done. Pleasant looking and, at the least, not outwardly mad.

I, um, I c-can't say that I see why you're bothering, of course. You've, y-you've got what you want. If you aren't going to let me go, then I'm sure you could think of...s-something else, at least.

I can wait. I, um, I h-have nothing but time, now.

[Anyone wandering by Good Spirits...well, the New Feather stuck on the roof might catch your eye. He's eyeing the drop to the ground with some wariness, but all the windows are closed with the bar traffic slowed down by the early afternoon. Without assistance, he will just try and fall, and with his new wings that will hurt a very great deal. By then, however, he'll have discovered that the telephone that just happens to look like a book has a map attached, and a guide, and from there he'll set about wandering about the plaza.

Maps are logical, reasonable, rational things. It seems to even match up to his general environs. It's a positive sign, although it's a positive sign pointing to a solution possibly even more insane than the idea that Drusilla is still tormenting him.]

Player Name: Hicku/Hickumu
Are you new?: N
Character Name: Rupert Giles
Character Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Season 2)

Comments

[herotypical]

Dubs. Double-you. BTW. By the way.

[ that sigh; that annoyance.

she finds it so comforting. like a warm, fuzzy blanket. ]

[consultmybooks]

Then why couldn't you just...

["...say that?" The journal catches the single, grumbled word with only a couple of years of proper exasperation behind it.]

Adolescents.

"Genetic camouflage", then. All right. I suppose you're going to tell me why wings serve any form of camouflage next, then?

[herotypical]

Everyone has them, here. Kinda required to...l-live.

[ that word shouldn't be so difficult but it chokes her up.]

[consultmybooks]

...they're, um, just wings. Not even very efficient ones, if I'm still trapped on this roof. Even birds don't actually, um, require wings to live. Not in the absence of hungry cats, I mean.

...are you also talking through the book, then?

[herotypical]

[ she was going to answer that first comment when... ]

Yes. The book. Enchanted, most likely. Or really vintagey-styled cell tech.

[consultmybooks]

I've encountered, um, stranger enchantments.

...I've, um, spoken with some very odd people already. Don't know if they, um, a-actually exist, of course, by virtue of being stuck on this roof.

[Unspoken but implied is that, at the moment, he prefers it that way.]

[herotypical]

[ and yet all she takes out of this is: ] You're stuck on a roof?

[consultmybooks]

[Such a sensible, down to Earth concern for people who are in their right minds.]

I presume that jumping would still cause injury? Then, um, yes. I seem to be stuck on a roof.

[herotypical]

Are you hurt? Can you climb?

[consultmybooks]

I...don't seem to be hurt, no.

[Surprising, honestly.]

Should I, um, start climbing, then?