![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Oct. 20th, 2020 05:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
vampthropologistWho: Cuthbert Beckett and Beatrice Brewer
What: a case of horribly unmistaken identity
Where: corridors outside intake
When: during the nightwatch times
Warnings/Notes: probable discussion of horrible vampire ways
"Embrace not love, for love in My Embrace will grow cold, wither, and die."
Beckett is standing in the hall just outside Intake, though not with any particular intent. It just happened to be where he came to rest; he's been pacing the corridors for days, hoping to find some sign of the killer stalking the Rig, and it's not like he needs to sleep. It isn't that he's particularly alarmed by the circumstances, no, not at all - but it keeps his mind occupied, and gives him an excuse to start making maps. Beckett appreciates maps. A good map can save your life, under the right circumstances
This is why he's propped his lanky body up against one side of the corridor, notebook open and braced on one arm, and why he's chewing lightly on the inside of his cheek with concentration as he traces out the area he's just walked through. It's not much, but he's already noticing how clumsy the Rig's construction is, how many gaps and loose spaces and sealed-off, forgotten rooms there seem to be. Which is both useful and interesting; the contradiction of the Rig's incredible technology and its amateur hour administration means something, something more than mere incompetence or disregard for the New Hires' safety. He's quite sure of it. There's something broken behind the eyes of every Jorgmund employee he's encountered, something he feels like he should recognize, but doesn't.
He's totally engrossed in what he's doing, and unlikely to notice anyone coming up on him
What: a case of horribly unmistaken identity
Where: corridors outside intake
When: during the nightwatch times
Warnings/Notes: probable discussion of horrible vampire ways
"Embrace not love, for love in My Embrace will grow cold, wither, and die."
- The Book of Nod, Chronicle of Shadows, words of Caine to his childer, on the subject of progeny
Beckett is standing in the hall just outside Intake, though not with any particular intent. It just happened to be where he came to rest; he's been pacing the corridors for days, hoping to find some sign of the killer stalking the Rig, and it's not like he needs to sleep. It isn't that he's particularly alarmed by the circumstances, no, not at all - but it keeps his mind occupied, and gives him an excuse to start making maps. Beckett appreciates maps. A good map can save your life, under the right circumstances
This is why he's propped his lanky body up against one side of the corridor, notebook open and braced on one arm, and why he's chewing lightly on the inside of his cheek with concentration as he traces out the area he's just walked through. It's not much, but he's already noticing how clumsy the Rig's construction is, how many gaps and loose spaces and sealed-off, forgotten rooms there seem to be. Which is both useful and interesting; the contradiction of the Rig's incredible technology and its amateur hour administration means something, something more than mere incompetence or disregard for the New Hires' safety. He's quite sure of it. There's something broken behind the eyes of every Jorgmund employee he's encountered, something he feels like he should recognize, but doesn't.
He's totally engrossed in what he's doing, and unlikely to notice anyone coming up on him