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neutral_omensDate: July 6, 2000
Status: Public
Setting: Manor gardens, Front desk
Summary: Delirium arrives.
If someone had asked Delirium why she was where she was, presently sitting cross-legged on the grass in front of Lower Tadfield Manor, she would have no answer for them really, except that it felt rather like she should be there.
And anyway she was entertained.
The impressive wreckage of a plane a dozen or so feet away held her attention for good five minutes or so before she climbed to her feet and left it a habitat to a number of small noisy multicolored frogs.
To the human eye, she appeared to be a girl not more than fourteen years old, wild purpley pink hair, shaved on one side of her head, dressed in tattered badly matched clothing.
They would boggle at her for a moment or two, wondering absently if that streak of orange hair was there just a moment ago, and then just as quickly move along, dismissing her with relief, as a runaway or one of those eccentric rocker kids.
Not-so-human eyes would deal slightly better with her rapidly changing appearance. At least in theory.
The personification matter-of-factly ignored the front door and crawled in through an open window that may or may not have been there before. One never knew with her.
She landed, a rainbowed tangle of limbs, beside the front desk with a soft thud and blinked her mismatched eyes at her surroundings.
Status: Public
Setting: Manor gardens, Front desk
Summary: Delirium arrives.
If someone had asked Delirium why she was where she was, presently sitting cross-legged on the grass in front of Lower Tadfield Manor, she would have no answer for them really, except that it felt rather like she should be there.
And anyway she was entertained.
The impressive wreckage of a plane a dozen or so feet away held her attention for good five minutes or so before she climbed to her feet and left it a habitat to a number of small noisy multicolored frogs.
To the human eye, she appeared to be a girl not more than fourteen years old, wild purpley pink hair, shaved on one side of her head, dressed in tattered badly matched clothing.
They would boggle at her for a moment or two, wondering absently if that streak of orange hair was there just a moment ago, and then just as quickly move along, dismissing her with relief, as a runaway or one of those eccentric rocker kids.
Not-so-human eyes would deal slightly better with her rapidly changing appearance. At least in theory.
The personification matter-of-factly ignored the front door and crawled in through an open window that may or may not have been there before. One never knew with her.
She landed, a rainbowed tangle of limbs, beside the front desk with a soft thud and blinked her mismatched eyes at her surroundings.
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