𝐣𝐨𝐬𝐬 & 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐥. "i'm going to be fucking massive."
usually, lintel pays the door no mind. he'd been jumpier when his old skin fit better, always craning and looking when noise wriggled through the walls. made him a nightmare of a roommate. nobody could get in or out without him knowing. now he cares less about staying or going. usually a little animal looking for shelter from the rain or an animal-thing looking for shelter from also the fucking rain. his wards hum against his palms as the threshhold is broken, then repaired. this old place looks after itself half the time. makes him feel a bit like a knobhead-shaped bauble.
whatever's passing through can talk. human words, maybe, or something similair enough that lintel hears what he wants to. the thing about this city is that while it has ancient roots deeper than dryrot, there are still one thousand ways to leave again. lintel has given up guessing who is planning to linger. he doesn't call out simply because he hasn't been spoken to; if something is coming to see him, it knows he's here. if not, no need to alert the dear.
broken glass creaks and crunches underfoot. even bent over his scrawlings, lintel winces in sympathy. shoes are lost on these bloody things, no matter how often he mentions them helpfully and vaguely. they'll bleed all over the damp floor and no doubt whinge at him for it later. he cocks his head, listening for a curse or a stumble, and doesn't find one waiting. curious.
he doesn't yet chance his voice. lintel doesn't remember much about his mother but he does know she'd clip him 'round the ear for ignorance were she here. battleaxe of a woman. he stands, hissing softly at the rust in his knees. flakes of paint flutter to his feet, greying in some places and green with moss in others. he knows where the boards groan under pressure and avoids the weak points like second nature, aiming to stick his head out of the door and prepared to hear an insult about the size of his ears or the state of the place. the half-dark makes him squint, the dust more so, until he can make out a shape.
one of the shapes is moving. muttering. shaking.
lintel feels himself sigh before he hears it. "y'alright over there, mate?" he calls, cupping one hand beneath his mouth to carry his voice and immediately feeling like a bit of a pillock for it. "how massive are we talking? if this is, you know, something a bit seedy, i'd rather..." he trails off, eyes sweeping the bundle on the floor again. fuckssake. "you know what, mate? how about i help you move that, yeah? no harm. then you can go. 'cause, you know, you're really not supposed to be in here. structural... no integrity to it. beams and everything." @eternityafraid.