Post by Hoax on Jul 18, 2010 16:52:52 GMT -5
Onyx and Chupacabra… C-H-U-P-A-C-A-B-R-A.
Stormhawk and… A-N-D Diesel.
Riker and... and... some new student…S-TU-D-E-N-T. Think he’s…H-E-apostrophe-S called RAM.
Dor rolled his eyes and went on to the next door. He didn’t know why the damn things had an affinity for interrupting themselves to spell at him, but it drove him up a W-A-L-L. “Alright, this will take me forever. So how’s about one of you stupid things tell me which room ain’t occupied.” The Georgian had to clap his hands over his ears as nearly everything in the hall started shouting at once. The light fixtures hurled insults at him, the carpet started slowly reciting the lyrics to the Macarana, the walls were whispering, always whispering, repeating conversations that they had heard, and finally…
Here! I am…A-M vacant!
Grinning, Dor went to the door and let himself inside. The room was… acceptable. It wasn’t in anyway grand or impressive, but it was relatively empty. No clutter meant fewer voices. He dropped his bags on the bed by the door and stood with his hands on his hips, looking around sternly. “Alright, you lot, listen close.” Of course he was addressing the beds, the desks, chairs, lamps… whatever scant things were in the room. “Ah’m only gonna say this once. Ah don’t want to hear you jabberin nonstop. No singin, squealin, yelpin, yodelin, bad impressions, good impressions, or speaking unless otherwise asked t’do so… understand?”
There was a unenthused chorus of Yeah, yeah, we got it, followed by a snort and a rather tart voice announcing. Go to hell… H-E-L-L.
Dor just collapsed on his bed, kicking his bags aside for a moment and ignoring their indignant complaints. There was a quiet hum in the room, soothing and tranquil. The walls were whispering to each other, telling him their secrets. His grin relaxed into contented oblivion as he eavesdropped. Dor hadn’t been at this ‘listening’ gig long, but things were peculiar. Shoes for instance. They repeated each other. What one said, so said the other. Jewelry tended to be insipid. Clocks had an annoying ticking speech that had put him off wearing watches for good. But walls…
Walls were his favorite.
No matter what they were made of, be it wood, or sheetrock, or drywall, or stone, walls were a special case for the young Paragon. Unable or willing to speak directly to Dor, they whispered to each other, repeating what they heard like ghostly echoes. Most of what was said was nonlinear. Bits of conversation, fragmented quotations, and nonsense taken out of context, all whispering around him in quiet, hushed tones and if he listened… if Dor really listened, the words eventually painted him quite the picture.
And the walls of the Academy had more to say than most.
Stormhawk and… A-N-D Diesel.
Riker and... and... some new student…S-TU-D-E-N-T. Think he’s…H-E-apostrophe-S called RAM.
Dor rolled his eyes and went on to the next door. He didn’t know why the damn things had an affinity for interrupting themselves to spell at him, but it drove him up a W-A-L-L. “Alright, this will take me forever. So how’s about one of you stupid things tell me which room ain’t occupied.” The Georgian had to clap his hands over his ears as nearly everything in the hall started shouting at once. The light fixtures hurled insults at him, the carpet started slowly reciting the lyrics to the Macarana, the walls were whispering, always whispering, repeating conversations that they had heard, and finally…
Here! I am…A-M vacant!
Grinning, Dor went to the door and let himself inside. The room was… acceptable. It wasn’t in anyway grand or impressive, but it was relatively empty. No clutter meant fewer voices. He dropped his bags on the bed by the door and stood with his hands on his hips, looking around sternly. “Alright, you lot, listen close.” Of course he was addressing the beds, the desks, chairs, lamps… whatever scant things were in the room. “Ah’m only gonna say this once. Ah don’t want to hear you jabberin nonstop. No singin, squealin, yelpin, yodelin, bad impressions, good impressions, or speaking unless otherwise asked t’do so… understand?”
There was a unenthused chorus of Yeah, yeah, we got it, followed by a snort and a rather tart voice announcing. Go to hell… H-E-L-L.
Dor just collapsed on his bed, kicking his bags aside for a moment and ignoring their indignant complaints. There was a quiet hum in the room, soothing and tranquil. The walls were whispering to each other, telling him their secrets. His grin relaxed into contented oblivion as he eavesdropped. Dor hadn’t been at this ‘listening’ gig long, but things were peculiar. Shoes for instance. They repeated each other. What one said, so said the other. Jewelry tended to be insipid. Clocks had an annoying ticking speech that had put him off wearing watches for good. But walls…
Walls were his favorite.
No matter what they were made of, be it wood, or sheetrock, or drywall, or stone, walls were a special case for the young Paragon. Unable or willing to speak directly to Dor, they whispered to each other, repeating what they heard like ghostly echoes. Most of what was said was nonlinear. Bits of conversation, fragmented quotations, and nonsense taken out of context, all whispering around him in quiet, hushed tones and if he listened… if Dor really listened, the words eventually painted him quite the picture.
And the walls of the Academy had more to say than most.
