09-19-2013, 08:05 AM
Going row by row was painstakingly slow. The air was heavy down here as though smashed by the weight of the building above, and soon a bead of sweat was trickling among the cold rivulets down the back of his neck. A swipe across his brow with the back of his hand did little good, and he lamented not taking the extra time to scrub the towel more thoroughly around his hair.
Sighing, he briefly looked behind him and placed the flashlight on the ground to free up his hands. Light oriented away, he more keenly felt the cavern of darkness around him, and held back a shiver at what his imagination placed in the corners. Kids 'round here talked about the building being leftover from a converted Soviet-run housing complex, and from former field trips through the basements, he was aware of certain... anomalies that regular apartment complexes lack: oddly placed bolt holes in the ceilings, bricked up doors, irrigation canals in the sub floor. Creepy stuff; he believed the rumors. He shuddered to think what happened here in the dark days of communism, nor the sorts of hellish figures that liked to possess such places to lure those on into the abyss of which their souls were perched.
With such thoughts in the back of his mind, he froze mid-way through shaking out his hair at a noise in the distance: the clinkling sound of ice in a glass of water being walked by a rough hand. He greatly doubted someone was sipping iced tea alone in the dark. Shrill shivers ran down his spine. He stood upright and immediately flung his mind toward a familiar dark corner of his soul and via snapped fingers an orb of light winked into existence. The snap echoed in the space now illuminated by an other-worldly orange glow, a freehanging lamp above his palm. It was like grasping the power of God in his hand, and if he were damned for a marble of light, he might as well make it useful.
He threw his arms wide apart and a brilliant flash strobed the room so bright that it burnt his eyes, but in that moment, he scanned everything.
And found nothing. To be honest with himself, he hadn't expected the demons that followed him around would sit up and wave merrily from the corner - though jovial they were likely to be. He chastised himself for being jumpy, cupped the light with his palm and smothered it back to a manageable glow.
Then another noise. A real one. The door.
By the time the young lady arrived, Jensen was once more a mere man holding a flashlight to the breakers, though he'd moved on to the second box and was standing upright and nightblinded until his eyes finished adjusting.
At her approach, he turned and shone the light below her chin as to not sting her eyes with the beam. It was probably hard to tell, but he smiled grimly at her question, which reminded him of the more earthly problems of the last few minutes.
"It got a little cold at the end," he answered with the long, Texan drawl for which he was famous. Otherwise, he turned and tapped the box with the rim of the flashlight that he'd just finished inspecting before the previous... distraction interrupted. "I checked this one. It's good. Split up? You take those, I'll take these?"
Sighing, he briefly looked behind him and placed the flashlight on the ground to free up his hands. Light oriented away, he more keenly felt the cavern of darkness around him, and held back a shiver at what his imagination placed in the corners. Kids 'round here talked about the building being leftover from a converted Soviet-run housing complex, and from former field trips through the basements, he was aware of certain... anomalies that regular apartment complexes lack: oddly placed bolt holes in the ceilings, bricked up doors, irrigation canals in the sub floor. Creepy stuff; he believed the rumors. He shuddered to think what happened here in the dark days of communism, nor the sorts of hellish figures that liked to possess such places to lure those on into the abyss of which their souls were perched.
With such thoughts in the back of his mind, he froze mid-way through shaking out his hair at a noise in the distance: the clinkling sound of ice in a glass of water being walked by a rough hand. He greatly doubted someone was sipping iced tea alone in the dark. Shrill shivers ran down his spine. He stood upright and immediately flung his mind toward a familiar dark corner of his soul and via snapped fingers an orb of light winked into existence. The snap echoed in the space now illuminated by an other-worldly orange glow, a freehanging lamp above his palm. It was like grasping the power of God in his hand, and if he were damned for a marble of light, he might as well make it useful.
He threw his arms wide apart and a brilliant flash strobed the room so bright that it burnt his eyes, but in that moment, he scanned everything.
And found nothing. To be honest with himself, he hadn't expected the demons that followed him around would sit up and wave merrily from the corner - though jovial they were likely to be. He chastised himself for being jumpy, cupped the light with his palm and smothered it back to a manageable glow.
Then another noise. A real one. The door.
By the time the young lady arrived, Jensen was once more a mere man holding a flashlight to the breakers, though he'd moved on to the second box and was standing upright and nightblinded until his eyes finished adjusting.
At her approach, he turned and shone the light below her chin as to not sting her eyes with the beam. It was probably hard to tell, but he smiled grimly at her question, which reminded him of the more earthly problems of the last few minutes.
"It got a little cold at the end," he answered with the long, Texan drawl for which he was famous. Otherwise, he turned and tapped the box with the rim of the flashlight that he'd just finished inspecting before the previous... distraction interrupted. "I checked this one. It's good. Split up? You take those, I'll take these?"