nny | (no subject)

I so enormously can't be bothered to go through and tag my whole journal, but I really think it's the only way I'll ever manage to keep track of everything I've written. Even the easy options are far too hard, you know.

Today, on Nny's brain:

I looked up as the door burst rudely open to find Carstairs in a state of high agitation, a flush on his sallow cheeks and his coat half off.

"There you are, my fine fellow." He clutched at his heart and leaned heavily against the wall, and I sighed and marked my page; somehow the presence of Carstairs quite undermines the possibility of anything in the least bit productive. "I find myself in need of your pistol."

This was not entirely unexpected.

"You haven't been reanimating corpses again?" I asked, my voice fittingly dry, and I merely shook my head and turned to the bureau when his eyes cut away from mine.

"I feel I must protest," he murmured, breathing returned to something resembling normal, "your use of the plural."