ᴏᴘᴇɴ sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀ ━━ ( Hongsi Hill Lighthouse, 7:12PM )
Those who had the luxury of knowing him knew of the man as a creature of habit. He handled his own schedule meticulously, not a second wasted nor a hair out of place. Modern conveniences quickened his process significantly but he still mulled about like an old lighthouse keeper from the 1900's, inundated with an endless list of his own making.
The sky has turned into a dulling fire, dark purple bleeding into the warm reds and oranges. These colors are all he needs to know the next day will he free from worry at sea. He smiles to himself as he peers out from behind the curtains of his living quarters but the moment of optimism is quickly lost.
He plucks the rifle usually mounted on the wall. It's bolt-action, probably dysfunctionalㅡhe knows this well. It's a tool of intimidation and nothing more. ( Had he emerged with his shotgun, it would be an entirely different story. ) The small hatchet he had been using to cut wood still hangs from his belt loop. Behind him, the previous keeper's large hound bellows and barks, its hulking black form blending seamlessly in the darkness. He raises the rifle, foot propped in the crack of the door as a measure of precaution.
He does not fear. He does not hesitate. He simply waits.
An answer from whoever it is is bound to come with these markers of urgency. He is typically a patient man. But one can never be too careful. The keeper he was working to replace told him stories of the constant intruders ( some of which he already experienced during the day ) some in the form of malicious spirits who seek to extinguish the light. They arrive like moths to flame.
"Better tell me why you're standing there before I lose my patience. People don't hear too much noise that happens up here down there." He gestures to the sea of light from the town below them. They're far enough down hill to simply appear as an amalgamation of orbs. Like someone poured a bioluminescent creature into the valley.
"Unless you're asking for trouble."
