Ambrose "Glitch" Langwe (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wholeheaded) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
taxonomites2013-10-26 07:08 pm
wholeheaded) wrote in taxonomites2013-10-26 07:08 pm
Entry tags:
01 + [holo] I'll ride home laughing, look at me now
As far as Ambrose is concerned it has been a superlative day. His breakfast order arrived with an extra almond roll, the royal budget office has just messaged him confirming that his committee’s paperwork is in order and their funding has been approved, and as predicted by Helene’s almanac the suns have chased away the rain so the outdoor play he’s attending that evening will go forward as planned.
He spins his chair away from his desk, leans back, and puts his booted feet on the window sill. After a moment’s consideration he folds his hands behind his head and rocks a little further back, grinning rebelliously. He’s certain the modifications he’s made to the seat will support him but still relishes the involuntary alarm bells his sense of equilibrium is setting off. A cheap thrill, sure, but it passes the time.
Maybe he’ll have a nap before getting ready to go out. Maybe he’ll try and persuade Tutor to come to the show with him. Maybe he’ll wear his yellow shirt with the frogs on the lapels instead of the pale blue one with the gray stripes. All this will take some thought, and to aid that along Ambrose closes his eyes, relishes the warm sunslight on his face -- and falls backwards onto a hard metal floor with an “Oof!”
He springs back up with a grimace and rubs the small of his back. A quick full-body shimmy shows that everything is in working order, so he moves on to assessing the situation. His office in his house: gone, or rather he’s gone from it and is now on a raised platform in a circular metal room with a temptingly open door. Looking down, he spots a familiar leather-bound briefcase and reaches to pick it up, which is when he spots a familiar metal bracelet with a familiar gizmo attached.
“Oh, wait, that’s…a thing I know, I think.” He looks up and gawps at the big, sleek, alien – aliens! – device on the ceiling, then back down and around the room again with an expression which is becoming increasingly excited. “This is…”
He removes the tablet from the bracelet like he’s done it countless times before and studies the little screen. There’s an enticing icon promising something important to read, and a blinking red light, and something about a hologram and oh yes this is all very familiar, everyone gets a hologram transmission when they first arrive in…in…whatever this place is called.
Ambrose smooths down the crisp waves of his salt-and-pepper hair, possibly drawing attention to the lack of a zipper and the presence of a scar, then clears his throat.
“Hello! The name’s Ambrose.” Then he grins, all teeth and crow’s feet. “But you can definitely call me Glitch if you want. Is it all right if I do a little experiment?”
He spins his chair away from his desk, leans back, and puts his booted feet on the window sill. After a moment’s consideration he folds his hands behind his head and rocks a little further back, grinning rebelliously. He’s certain the modifications he’s made to the seat will support him but still relishes the involuntary alarm bells his sense of equilibrium is setting off. A cheap thrill, sure, but it passes the time.
Maybe he’ll have a nap before getting ready to go out. Maybe he’ll try and persuade Tutor to come to the show with him. Maybe he’ll wear his yellow shirt with the frogs on the lapels instead of the pale blue one with the gray stripes. All this will take some thought, and to aid that along Ambrose closes his eyes, relishes the warm sunslight on his face -- and falls backwards onto a hard metal floor with an “Oof!”
He springs back up with a grimace and rubs the small of his back. A quick full-body shimmy shows that everything is in working order, so he moves on to assessing the situation. His office in his house: gone, or rather he’s gone from it and is now on a raised platform in a circular metal room with a temptingly open door. Looking down, he spots a familiar leather-bound briefcase and reaches to pick it up, which is when he spots a familiar metal bracelet with a familiar gizmo attached.
“Oh, wait, that’s…a thing I know, I think.” He looks up and gawps at the big, sleek, alien – aliens! – device on the ceiling, then back down and around the room again with an expression which is becoming increasingly excited. “This is…”
He removes the tablet from the bracelet like he’s done it countless times before and studies the little screen. There’s an enticing icon promising something important to read, and a blinking red light, and something about a hologram and oh yes this is all very familiar, everyone gets a hologram transmission when they first arrive in…in…whatever this place is called.
Ambrose smooths down the crisp waves of his salt-and-pepper hair, possibly drawing attention to the lack of a zipper and the presence of a scar, then clears his throat.
“Hello! The name’s Ambrose.” Then he grins, all teeth and crow’s feet. “But you can definitely call me Glitch if you want. Is it all right if I do a little experiment?”