12-29-2010, 07:02 PM
[html]OOC: Dated to December 30, 2010, as I already have another thread going for today and don't know how long it'll stretch.
The house Slade "attacks" can be Shawchert's or an empty one; you decide. Sorry, didn't notice that Shawchert wasn't there.
It was a bad idea for Slade to be a night owl. He rose every morning before dawn, but his sleeping schedule varied depending on what he had done that day. Sometimes he crashed early, just after sunset, and other times he managed to be awake for most of the night. Tonight was one of those nights. Slade didn’t really care that he was likely going to be cranky the next morning; as long as he stayed away from others, he would be just fine. Besides, he had an excuse for throwing his sleep: he was going to do a bit of spying.
Since his little “incident” yesterday morning, Slade had stuck around the area of Thornbury to further explore his surroundings, though he had been careful not to go throwing his head into thorn bushes because he saw an imaginary treasure. Instead, he had changed his story to make himself trapped in an ancient kingdom, crawling with dark secrets that he would have to learn in order to escape. It was rather fun to be creeping around, though he never really considered that one might think he was spying. Slade, however, wouldn’t really care if he was called sneaky or naïve. One could never be too old for fun.
He was doing a bit of his little game that night. The sky was clear and the moon shone bright, but in Slade’s mind, it was pouring rain and he was flinging projectiles at evil natives who wanted to kill him. While doing so, he accidentally snatched up a large stone in his mouth, turned away, and flung it. It slammed into the wall of one of the houses, making a loud BANG!
Slade shrunk back, horrified. His imagination had gotten him into trouble yet again, and he really didn’t like the prospect of meeting someone who might live in that house. For a moment, he considered running off so he wouldn’t take the blame, regardless of whether or not the house was occupied, but changed his mind. Cursing his conscience, he decided he should probably confess. Sheepishly, he crawled forward and said, "Um, hello, whoever’s living here. I just wanted to let you know that the banging noise; that was me. Um, I got a little carried away, and it won’t happen again." Then he shut his eyes and ducked his head, waiting for a harsh silence or response. Neither would be good.
It was a bad idea for Slade to be a night owl. He rose every morning before dawn, but his sleeping schedule varied depending on what he had done that day. Sometimes he crashed early, just after sunset, and other times he managed to be awake for most of the night. Tonight was one of those nights. Slade didn’t really care that he was likely going to be cranky the next morning; as long as he stayed away from others, he would be just fine. Besides, he had an excuse for throwing his sleep: he was going to do a bit of spying.
Since his little “incident” yesterday morning, Slade had stuck around the area of Thornbury to further explore his surroundings, though he had been careful not to go throwing his head into thorn bushes because he saw an imaginary treasure. Instead, he had changed his story to make himself trapped in an ancient kingdom, crawling with dark secrets that he would have to learn in order to escape. It was rather fun to be creeping around, though he never really considered that one might think he was spying. Slade, however, wouldn’t really care if he was called sneaky or naïve. One could never be too old for fun.
He was doing a bit of his little game that night. The sky was clear and the moon shone bright, but in Slade’s mind, it was pouring rain and he was flinging projectiles at evil natives who wanted to kill him. While doing so, he accidentally snatched up a large stone in his mouth, turned away, and flung it. It slammed into the wall of one of the houses, making a loud BANG!
Slade shrunk back, horrified. His imagination had gotten him into trouble yet again, and he really didn’t like the prospect of meeting someone who might live in that house. For a moment, he considered running off so he wouldn’t take the blame, regardless of whether or not the house was occupied, but changed his mind. Cursing his conscience, he decided he should probably confess. Sheepishly, he crawled forward and said, "Um, hello, whoever’s living here. I just wanted to let you know that the banging noise; that was me. Um, I got a little carried away, and it won’t happen again." Then he shut his eyes and ducked his head, waiting for a harsh silence or response. Neither would be good.