1. I've heard teeth can explode in air this cold. Imagine.

[bestsir]

Who: Harry Goodsir and divers hands.
What: Continuations from Harry's TMD threads, plus open to anyone else who wants in.
Where: All around.
When: In the days leading up to September's event.

Harry has found a house. It's much like the others, but what catches his attention is that it appears to have been owned by a person—a woman, he concludes from the clothing and other belongings left behind—with an interest in natural history. There's a bookcase in the front room with a variety of scientific and medical texts—nothing scholarly per se, but popular studies accessible to lay readers. He cannot find any other trace of the former inhabitant—no body—and so after wrestling with his conscience for a bit, he eventually gathers up what seems most personal and puts it all in a storage closet. Just in case.

He'll open the door to anyone who stops by.

Otherwise, he is out and about, making himself useful where he can.

Comments

[bestsir]

Goodsir shakes his head as he hands over the tablets. "I am not. A book, is it?"

[missionem]

"A work of fiction. A man builds a time machine and travels to the future." Thomas attempts to pop the cap on the bottle, only to find it peculiarly fastened. He frowns, turning it again, feeling it shudder and skip on the threads.

"It seems our present circumstances align with Mr. Wells' speculations, to an extent. No sign of Morlocks yet."

[bestsir]

With a soft "may I?" Goodsir takes the bottle and tries himself to open it, and meets with just as much success as Thomas until he notices that there are words on the cap.

"Dare I ask what a Morlock is?" he says, squinting at the letters. Apparently one is meant to push down on the cap whilst twisting it—only Goodsir can't quite seem to get the knack of the action, not yet.