[Oh, you precious dumb aristocrat. You're the kind of person who would stroll into the Artic like it was Hyde Park, aren't you. By God, if Jonathan weren't such a wholesome fellow, Holmes would want to pull his cap down over his eyes and shove him out the door, but somehow he tapdances right through annoyance into endearing.
This great lumbering fool, Holmes thinks, with a fond kind of stress. He is going to fly to space and get himself killed.]
Well...welcome to the other side.
[He pushes open a metal door, rusty and covered in the scribbles of years of patrons inclined to vandalism, and steps into a cavernous open practice room: industrial, graffiti'd, cleaned to minimum standards, smelling of bleach and sweat and athletic vinyl. The light that comes through the nearly opaque ceiling windows is gray and grimy, and the humans practicing in two of the four rings with their knuckles wrapped and brows streaming are hard-edged and grimy as well.
Holmes heads for the lockers closest to the only empty ring, peeling off his gloves as he goes.]
no subject
This great lumbering fool, Holmes thinks, with a fond kind of stress. He is going to fly to space and get himself killed.]
Well...welcome to the other side.
[He pushes open a metal door, rusty and covered in the scribbles of years of patrons inclined to vandalism, and steps into a cavernous open practice room: industrial, graffiti'd, cleaned to minimum standards, smelling of bleach and sweat and athletic vinyl. The light that comes through the nearly opaque ceiling windows is gray and grimy, and the humans practicing in two of the four rings with their knuckles wrapped and brows streaming are hard-edged and grimy as well.
Holmes heads for the lockers closest to the only empty ring, peeling off his gloves as he goes.]