![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
In the cells, bored now
Mar. 30th, 2010 10:47 amIt's a Scottish spring day outside, which is to say that it's cold and wet and drizzly and grey.
That, at least, is the theory. And the reality, maybe, for other people.
Urquhart has been spending something like four weeks (give or take some days spent in timeless madness) in a small, clean place without weather, without seasons, without day or night even, other than the lights turned on or off by Security.
He wants out now. Seriously.
There was snow on the ground when he was taken prisoner. This morning, his Ostrogoth victim-turned-jailer brought him a little vase with his morning coffee. With five purple tulips in, and two beautifully scented hyacinths.
Urquhart wants the squelching mud now; he wants the buds on the branches and the fresh demon bunny blood on his hands; he wants ale sipped outside while watching the clouds, he wants huddling by the fire after coming in all drenched from a cloudburst, he wants the wetlands between a woman's legs, the high dry loneliness of the mountains, and the distant howls of the wolves.
He wants the world back.
Now!
[[OOC: This post was brought to you by the fact that the opening line was heading Milliways all through my online time last night, and my inner!Urquhart was chafing and chafing at it. He's had enough. He wants out. So, I turned it into an OOM.]]
That, at least, is the theory. And the reality, maybe, for other people.
Urquhart has been spending something like four weeks (give or take some days spent in timeless madness) in a small, clean place without weather, without seasons, without day or night even, other than the lights turned on or off by Security.
He wants out now. Seriously.
There was snow on the ground when he was taken prisoner. This morning, his Ostrogoth victim-turned-jailer brought him a little vase with his morning coffee. With five purple tulips in, and two beautifully scented hyacinths.
Urquhart wants the squelching mud now; he wants the buds on the branches and the fresh demon bunny blood on his hands; he wants ale sipped outside while watching the clouds, he wants huddling by the fire after coming in all drenched from a cloudburst, he wants the wetlands between a woman's legs, the high dry loneliness of the mountains, and the distant howls of the wolves.
He wants the world back.
Now!
[[OOC: This post was brought to you by the fact that the opening line was heading Milliways all through my online time last night, and my inner!Urquhart was chafing and chafing at it. He's had enough. He wants out. So, I turned it into an OOM.]]
