Post by lyle on Jul 26, 2011 18:18:36 GMT -8
thursday, september 8, 2011 – 11:30 pm
a lot that i don't know, there's a lot that i'm still learning.He had been up late and for quite some time, that much was obvious. It was apparent from the dark circles that had appeared underneath his eyes. It was apparent from the scruffy hair, mussed after hours of running his hands through it when thinking. It was apparent from the dim look in his eyes, and the reading glasses that hung loosely from his nose didn't help the image. He didn't appear lively in the slightest. Of course, it was logical that at this time, those who were still inside the doors of the Daily Prophet were likely to be past the point of awake. He raised a mug to his lips, inhaling slightly before swallowing some of the bitter liquid. With a sigh, he reached up to push the glasses further up the bridge of his nose. He held the newspaper closer to his face, his tired eyes skimming over the words. He had barely noticed that he was close to nodding off before he had a sensation like falling, and woke himself up. He needed to get to bed, but this was more important than that. His job was always more important than that, even before he was a reporter.
He reached a hand up, rubbing at the back of his neck. For a moment, the fabric of his button-down shirt stretched far enough for the faint outline off the eagle to reveal itself upon the back of his shoulder. Even the tattoo showed his weariness, attempting to fold its wings in closer to its body and curl up for sleep. The brunette extended his arms for a moment before holding the paper back up to his face. In some situations, good research could prove just as valuable as good field investigation. He was hoping this would be one of those experiences. He yawned before casting a quick glance over the tops of the glasses and about the room. It was supposed to be an office, and it probably had been, before there had been some major reconstruction of the hierarchy of the Prophet. Now it served as a sort of filing room, the walls lined with extended cabinets. It was almost pathetic that some of these ancient papers were still in the system, accessible if only one asked. He figured it would have been a good place to start, and there were several stacks of older papers surrounding him, a hodgepodge of information.
A quick glance over his shoulder informed him that his method of taking notes was currently successful. He wasn't exactly sure where he had picked up the quill, but it hovered above the parchment. Everything he said aloud, from a slight muttering to a loud sentence, was recorded down for him. Some sort of self-correcting quill, combined with something else. Whatever it was, he was thankful he had purchased it. It was extremely accurate in his half-awake status, he mentally noted in a moment of clarity. He leaned back in the chair, removing the reading glasses for a moment. Sighing once more, he ran a hand over his face. This was becoming tedious. He really should have gone back home and to sleep. A part of him feared that he was no longer able to pay attention. He raised the cup of coffee to his mouth once more, draining half of what remained in the mug. The caffeine needed to pick in harder, he still intended to stick around. He didn't want to leave when his work was not finished, even if the research was not part of his immediate assignment. He had never been one to keep to only one subject, though.
The paper tumbled from his fingers to the floor, but he made no effort to pick it up. He had been in this room for hours, and he had been inside this building for over twelve. He needed to stretch his legs or something. Fifteen minutes later, he had finished a lap or two around this floor of the building. Slightly more coherent, he scowled slightly as he reached to open the door. He flung it open, releasing a sound sort of like a strangled gasp. There was someone there. His eyes were instantly on the quill and parchment he had left floating, to ensure himself that it was still there. A few quick strides and he was practically falling over himself to pick up the mess of papers he had left. Were they leaving or entering the room? Were they even bothering with the room, or just merely walking past? Straightening up, the young man whirled about to face them. He cleared his throat, before attempting to find some words to deter any sort of uncomfortable tension and uneasy silence. "It's rather late to be working, isn't it?" A slight smile flickered across his face for a moment, the papers still crumpled in his hands. Who was he to talk? Lyle O'Callaghan was out late, himself.tag: patience! | words: loads. | lyrics: the resolution by jack's mannequin. | notes: this post is bleh.