thursdays_angel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thursdays_angel) wrote2010-02-07 07:26 pm
thursdays_angel) wrote2010-02-07 07:26 pm
(no subject)
Castiel has long resisted taking a room at Milliways.
It’s not that he had had any philosophical objections to it. But for an angel, the idea of a personal physical space, a room of one’s own, is so foreign that even when others had suggested it, he had dismissed it with little consideration.
But he has been coming here for some time, and trying new things. And as a result “things” are beginning to pile up. He still has several dozen paper cranes that he had been unable to give away, leftover supplies from the ship-in-a-bottle, flotsam and jetsam from baseball. Every new thing he tries generates stuff, and Castiel doesn’t see the trend ending.
He’d tried just keeping everything in a box and moving it from out-of-the-way place to out-of-the-way place in the bar (most recently it had been stashed in a remote area of the rafters). But that method isn’t going to work much longer.
Castiel had decided to cave to the inevitable. He had spoken with Bar, and been presented with a key.
Castiel unlocks the door to Room #401, and, carefully maneuvering his box, steps inside. It is a smallish room. Basic. It is furnished with a bed, a dresser, a desk and chair, and a small table. A door in one wall opens to a closet; a door on the opposite side opens into a bathroom. There is a window that looks toward the mountains, and the wallpaper is striped in blue and white.
Castiel neatly sets the box in one corner and looks around.
He’s really not sure what to do from here.
People seem to want to “settle in” to their living spaces. Even if they are just spaces that they will be staying for a while. Castiel reaches into the box and pulls out his baseball cap. He hangs it on the knob of the closet door. After considering for another moment, he liberates a yellow paper crane and sets in on the desk.
And stands back to survey the room.
His room.
My room, he tries it out in his head.
It just feels strange. Castiel isn’t sure if he’ll ever get used to it.
Not really wanting to linger, Castiel leaves, locks the door behind him, and goes back downstairs to the bar.
It’s not that he had had any philosophical objections to it. But for an angel, the idea of a personal physical space, a room of one’s own, is so foreign that even when others had suggested it, he had dismissed it with little consideration.
But he has been coming here for some time, and trying new things. And as a result “things” are beginning to pile up. He still has several dozen paper cranes that he had been unable to give away, leftover supplies from the ship-in-a-bottle, flotsam and jetsam from baseball. Every new thing he tries generates stuff, and Castiel doesn’t see the trend ending.
He’d tried just keeping everything in a box and moving it from out-of-the-way place to out-of-the-way place in the bar (most recently it had been stashed in a remote area of the rafters). But that method isn’t going to work much longer.
Castiel had decided to cave to the inevitable. He had spoken with Bar, and been presented with a key.
Castiel unlocks the door to Room #401, and, carefully maneuvering his box, steps inside. It is a smallish room. Basic. It is furnished with a bed, a dresser, a desk and chair, and a small table. A door in one wall opens to a closet; a door on the opposite side opens into a bathroom. There is a window that looks toward the mountains, and the wallpaper is striped in blue and white.
Castiel neatly sets the box in one corner and looks around.
He’s really not sure what to do from here.
People seem to want to “settle in” to their living spaces. Even if they are just spaces that they will be staying for a while. Castiel reaches into the box and pulls out his baseball cap. He hangs it on the knob of the closet door. After considering for another moment, he liberates a yellow paper crane and sets in on the desk.
And stands back to survey the room.
His room.
My room, he tries it out in his head.
It just feels strange. Castiel isn’t sure if he’ll ever get used to it.
Not really wanting to linger, Castiel leaves, locks the door behind him, and goes back downstairs to the bar.