we're soaring // open

[skypher]

Chip sighed as they sat in the lobby of the lodge. He did not do much. He supposed he could do much. But alas, there was nothing to do. More than likely his two brothers were off doing who knows what and he was left... He drew his legs up close to his chest, alone. He was used to being alone at this point, not that he liked it. It was a gross, twisted feeling. Like shadows were crawling up from the darkest depths of your stomach and were crawling and clawing up your esophagus and trying to escape from your mouth... He raised a brow. That was disgusting where did that even come from.

He needed to go do something. Fast.

Chip groggily stood up, his arms, shoulders, and head falling limp. He yawned as he lifted his head up, eyes scanning the dark room in front of him. He was the only person in here so far. He couldn't talk to anyone then... (well. more like make them talk to him, but he liked to listen.) Chip hummed, eyes moving over to a stack of various boxes in the corner of the room. Okay. That'll do. His curiosity is peaked.

Chip slid himself over to the boxes, taking one off the top and setting it in his crisscrossed lap. He slowly blinked before taking hold of one of the folded flaps. He peered inside. ... lightbulbs. He felt somewhat accomplished. Like an itch of curiosity has been scratched. He now knew what was inside the box. He closed it once more, shifting it to the side, peering up. What was in the rest of them? Opening various boxes, he got hold of toy soldiers, food bars, cotton balls and ... his face twisted. Eugh. (Ottawa might like these, he had to think) Moving on. He took hold of the last box, peering at it. He tilted his head, brown bangs falling over his vision. There had to be something in the box. He lifted it up, giving it a small shake. There were things inside. He could hear them. He took hold of the flap, tearing it back. And promptly raised a brow in confusion. Various bands of bright, fluorescent colors stood back. They were straight like a ruler, gross and fuzzy like cheap fabric. Chip pinched one between two of his fingers, staring at the unknown object like the plague. He tightened his grip, screaming out as it suddenly snapped, rolling up like a porcupine or hedgehog. He promptly punted it across the room. Chip stared at the small fabric roll in shock, sweat dribbling down his face. He tilted his head, promptly facing his fears and lifting up another band. He hummed. If pressure made them roll up. He took his wrist, the closest "stick like object" to him, and tapped it across the surface. It rolled up like a bracelet. He chuckled. Okay. These were not so bad, he supposed.