Post by Blake Sterling Jr. on Jan 30, 2016 3:53:38 GMT -8
The old vampire tapped on the plastic screen.
Tap, tap, tap. His thick fingers moving through the gossamer files like a spider along a web. “Time to review the notes from the last gathering” Tap… nothing. The lips of the brutish face turned down slowly pulling the other features along. Tap… tap.. “Where is that file?”
An hour later the distinct sound of rage and the shattering of a piece of plastic against a wall. “Thrice damned piece of modern shit!” The laugh of his beast was loud in his ears, once again locking the beast away with long skill. It did bother him how close he was to frenzying from frustration of losing that information. It’s not the information loss that bothered him, he could recall the whole evening with perfect clarity. It’s the fact of needed to rewrite the whole page of notes that was maddening.
“I’ll give it another decade to work out the imperfections.” With that he reached into his bag and pulled out the thick worn black book he always carried on him and started scribing into it again.
Silently on the other side of the room the ghoul shifts looking at the broken shards of junk on the floor. He starts to clean it up robotically, not noticing the cuts the glass gives him on his fingers and he picks every shard off the floor.
Tap, tap, tap. His thick fingers moving through the gossamer files like a spider along a web. “Time to review the notes from the last gathering” Tap… nothing. The lips of the brutish face turned down slowly pulling the other features along. Tap… tap.. “Where is that file?”
An hour later the distinct sound of rage and the shattering of a piece of plastic against a wall. “Thrice damned piece of modern shit!” The laugh of his beast was loud in his ears, once again locking the beast away with long skill. It did bother him how close he was to frenzying from frustration of losing that information. It’s not the information loss that bothered him, he could recall the whole evening with perfect clarity. It’s the fact of needed to rewrite the whole page of notes that was maddening.
“I’ll give it another decade to work out the imperfections.” With that he reached into his bag and pulled out the thick worn black book he always carried on him and started scribing into it again.
Silently on the other side of the room the ghoul shifts looking at the broken shards of junk on the floor. He starts to clean it up robotically, not noticing the cuts the glass gives him on his fingers and he picks every shard off the floor.