The Finder

mesmiranda replied to your post:

*catching her breath, the smile still hovering there* Don’t your mobile phones have Google at this time? Look it up.

-lowers his voice slightly, as though to pass on a secret suggestion, a twinkle in his eye- Or you could just take mercy on a poor bumbling human and tell me, mm?

mesmiranda replied to your post: 

So close and yet so far! I’m trying to do *something* to you, at the very least. *grinning, arms loosely folded*

-closes the space between them, wrapping his arms around her and giving her a mock-disbelieving look- My dear, I’m sure I have no clue what you’re talking about.

mesmiranda replied to your post: 

Can you deduce anything from the colour of the rose? *it is a deep coral shade*

Deduce? I can tell you what I’ve picked up from hanging around in florist shops, if you’d like. -tilts his head, grinning at her for a moment- Coral’s a mix of red and yellow- yellow normally signifies friendship, pride, and the like, while red roses are the most commonly given, signifying romantic interest, or passion- coral’s a mix, if my memory serves me right.

-he twirls the rose in between his fingers, breathes in its smell- Although normally it’s the guy who buys the roses- are you trying to upstage me?

mesmiranda:

There’s a street, and then there was always a red telephone box there.

A woman exits later; she’s tapping at something on her iPad—if you don’t looktoo closely at what’s between her hands. But somehow you don’t; your eye just slides right over her, passes her by, she’s completely unnoticeable.

Later, in Tim’s hallway, there’ll be some lightweight crates stacked up on top of each other, full of weapons: AI knives that telepathically follow their targets, portable prison cells that trap a person in one place for an hour, mercy guns—small golden-shaped blasters that remember who they shoot, stunning the target once before killing it.

On top of all the crates, still faintly glowing gold, is a coral-coloured rose; the meaning isn’t hard to decipher.

There’s a house, and it belongs to a psychic who’s trying very hard to stay grounded.

It doesn’t see much of him, not outside the bedroom not lately. He doesn’t do much other than sleep, recuperating from doing what he always does, and giving too much.

Later, when he can drag himself into some semblance of normalcy, he’ll see the crates, see the rose, and he’ll smile.

As he walks past the crates, he’ll snag the rose, and while he waits for his coffee, it will somehow find its way into a vase, and onto his living room table.

mesmiranda replied to your post:

I’m entertaining a traveller right now, actually—Frederick Valentich. Dropping off the poor man back on Earth after he’s had a bit of a rest (and some serious medical treatment). Maybe some hair dye, too…

I take it travelling of your sort didn’t quite agree with him? -laughs-

mesmiranda replied to your post:

You should live life more dangerously. Check your doorstep.

I’m a hopeless case, my dear. 

How are you?

mesmiranda replied to your post: 

Bloody stars. I have alcohol, alien painkillers, and chocolate, in that order… *sympathetically*

-faint smile- I’ll take you up on the chocolate and the alien painkillers, but can I get a raincheck on the alcohol?

mesmiranda replied to your post: 

Painkillers? *brows furrowing*

Darling, I did say that I’d held a link for so long that I physically couldn’t any more, right? That takes its toll~ -shrugs-

mesmiranda replied to your post: 

Who, exactly, are you talking to?

-dawning realization-

Riiiight. Sorry, I’m a trifle slow today, my dear Messy. I would blame the painkillers, but I think it’s mostly just me. -winks-