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Sep. 28th, 2013 09:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
artsnoopSomething uncomfortable disturbed her sleep. Sarah sighed, having gone to bed late five nights in a row. This one had been - was going to be - no different. Her hand found the source of discomfort, her large belt buckle, as she had fallen asleep, so the indentation in her skin suggested, on her stomach. Sarah sat up immediately, seeing her clothes from the day before, but worse, she never remembered coming back to her hotel room, never remembered falling asleep. She had been having a drink with a socially inept but knowledgable art historian discussing provenances...
Her eyes turned around the room. It looked less like a hotel room than an apartment and certainly not like her hotel room. There was nothing in the room, except her purse. She began brushing her hair while surveying the empty closet, the bathroom lacking all her toiletries, and the absence of her luggage anywhere. The largest shock came walking into the living room. It wasn't her living room, but the same painting hung on the wall. A close look revealed it was none other than what had been in her living room: View of a River with Rowing Boats. That was not an effect of a roofie.
Fixed up as best she could be, considering, Sarah made her way out, sincerely hoping the place locked behind her. Van Gogh was not the easiest to replace. But then, it had already been stolen or at least moved. There were stairs, as the view out her windows had promised, down to a city street. If Sarah didn't know better, she would have thought the building resembled those from about half a century ago. Architecture wasn't her primary focus, but she had learned to take notice of details. Not having a map, Sarah asked for directions to the library from a senior gentleman on the street.
The walk stretched her legs and gave time for her mind to wake up without coffee and formulate a plan. Having purpose kept her going, so as far as she could tell, Sarah didn't look out of place when she entered the library and used a terminal to look up where she might find archives of local newspapers. She clearly wasn't in Kansas anymore, literally.
Her eyes turned around the room. It looked less like a hotel room than an apartment and certainly not like her hotel room. There was nothing in the room, except her purse. She began brushing her hair while surveying the empty closet, the bathroom lacking all her toiletries, and the absence of her luggage anywhere. The largest shock came walking into the living room. It wasn't her living room, but the same painting hung on the wall. A close look revealed it was none other than what had been in her living room: View of a River with Rowing Boats. That was not an effect of a roofie.
Fixed up as best she could be, considering, Sarah made her way out, sincerely hoping the place locked behind her. Van Gogh was not the easiest to replace. But then, it had already been stolen or at least moved. There were stairs, as the view out her windows had promised, down to a city street. If Sarah didn't know better, she would have thought the building resembled those from about half a century ago. Architecture wasn't her primary focus, but she had learned to take notice of details. Not having a map, Sarah asked for directions to the library from a senior gentleman on the street.
The walk stretched her legs and gave time for her mind to wake up without coffee and formulate a plan. Having purpose kept her going, so as far as she could tell, Sarah didn't look out of place when she entered the library and used a terminal to look up where she might find archives of local newspapers. She clearly wasn't in Kansas anymore, literally.
