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]

"Crozier knows the Netsilik language. Silence and her people bear him no grudge," Goodsir says. "I think you may yet have some surprises, Mr. Hickey. But it's entirely moot so long as we're here, I daresay. Until whatever power brought us here sends us back, or onward to oblivion."

[friendsfordinner]

"If whatever power brought us here sends us back," Hickey corrects Goodsir. "After all, we've got no idea if anything like that would happen in the first place."

[bestsir]

"No, we haven't." He rubs at his forehead. "In the meantime, Mr. Hickey ... I shall stay out of your way so long as you stay out of mine. Do not mistake this for forgiveness or forgetting. Simply that there is only so much I can bear, and in the matter of dealing with you, I have some control."

[friendsfordinner]

As far as Hickey's concerned? He can give that a try. After all, no harm in making an attempt. That being said...

"It's a small town, Mr. Goodsir. I'll try to keep out of your way but I'll make no promises."

[bestsir]

"I can hardly ask for fairer than that," Goodsir says, his voice heavy with irony. He pushes back his chair, stand, and gathers up his plates. Then, without another word, he's off—no good day or any such pleasantries to be wasted here.