Rawrmobile

robynium:

I don’t really know… this was the first thing that popped into my head. The scenario I thought of before this kind of goes like (if I may illustrate with a small ficlet):

Martin stepped wearily into his small room, setting his bag down and sinking to the floor. Rain beat hard against the thin windows. The room was dark, cold, uninviting. The pilot sighed.

A small mouse scurried across the floor in front of him, making him jump. The tiny creature paused and looked up at the man, its nose twitching as it sniffed in his general direction.

“Hello,” Martin said quietly. The mouse didn’t move.

“What are you doing all the way up here, in my room?” he continued, feeling foolish. But then again, what other company did he have?

—

And then he just kind of goes into a whole rant thing about his unfortunate life. Gosh… I’m depressing. Sorry folks.

BUT AT LEAST THE MOUSE CARES.

martindavenport requested Martin Crieff talking to a mouse. Thank you for that, by the way :D 

(via teacupsandcyanide)