The days of being a spiritual mentor in Meiman.
Chapter 1369 The Call of the Stars (2)
Chapter 1369 The Call of the Stars ([-])
It’s raining in New York tonight, dim lights flicker in the windows of old houses on the banks of the Hudson River, and when reflected on the river bank, they look like candles that are about to burn out.
The soft sound of "Ka Ka Ka" came from one of the old houses, and Rocket Raccoon walked up the not-so-wide wooden stairs, following Schiller to the second floor of his small clinic in Hell's Kitchen.
Compared to his office in Arkham Sanitarium, it was almost cramped, packed like a can, Rocket thought.
The first floor of this small clinic is often very lively, those scenes where Schiller is making breakfast in the kitchen, Peter and Pikachu are sitting on the sofa playing games, Natasha is leaning against the door, and Steve who is jogging by in the morning stops by to say hello. Vividly, the peaceful days are always particularly memorable.
And the golden and red figure who stayed up at three o'clock in the middle of the night and landed on the roof of the small clinic. Every tile on the roof of the clinic has engraved Tony Stark's confusion about life and love.
As the figure of Schiller walking in front stepped aside, Rocket Raccoon finally got a full view of the place. There are two rooms on the second floor, one is Schiller's bedroom and the other is a guest room.
Don't expect to find any decent decoration here. The fact that Hell's Kitchen is a slum hasn't been completely changed until now, but when he walked into Schiller's bedroom, Rocket Raccoon was still taken aback.
The space here is not big. After putting a bed, the tables and chairs in front of the window will inevitably look like canned waste stuffed in. This is by no means a random association. Rocket Raccoon shook his head. From top to bottom, there is almost Every space is filled with all kinds of strange collections.
If four lamps on one bedside table weren't enough—the doctor seemed to think so, so he tucked two small candlesticks between the lamps.
Rocket Raccoon suddenly felt that it was not unreasonable for human beings to evolve like this. At least he now felt that his tail was too redundant. As soon as he turned around, the tip of his tail tipped over something.
Rocket Raccoon turned his head and saw that it was a gorgeously decorated easter egg. He wanted to touch the glittering golden decoration, picked up the egg with one hand, and put it in the only remaining corner of the top shelf next to it. , Schiller said with satisfaction: "Faberge egg, very good, isn't it?"
"If the obsessive-compulsive disorder you mentioned before is a disease that can keep your house tidy, then I really hope you have this disease. This place is like a big maze to me." Rocket Raccoon looked around , I had to step my legs carefully, for fear that I would encounter something terrible again.
It is quite possible that there must be some dangerous items in the doctor's eccentric collection, and more dangerous than that, they are all expensive, and if they are broken, he will not be able to afford to sell him. .
At this time, a pair of hands reached Rocket Raccoon's armpit and hugged him. Rocket Raccoon exclaimed, but he didn't struggle. When looking down at these collections from a high position, he found a sense of order from the chaos .
Yes, there are many things here, from Faberge eggs to ink bottles of a certain brand in Switzerland, from berets embroidered with bird patterns to knots hanging on the ground, and even a row of patterns that are exactly the same but in different colors Crystal wine glasses, when these things are stacked together, it will inevitably make people feel a little blocked.
But in fact, these things are arranged in different categories, and there is absolutely no one leaning on other collections in a disfigured manner, and nothing is in the wrong line and appears where it should not be.
This is really weird, Rocket Raccoon thought when he was put on the table, but soon something even weirder appeared, Schiller took out a notebook from his handbag.
When Rocket Raccoon saw this notebook for the first time, he couldn't even confirm whether it was the thing he thought of. It was some kind of collection for recording text, because its appearance seemed to be able to do more things. look.
The huge notebook has a leather cover, and the four corners are edged with metal. The part of the metal that presses the cover is twisted into a gorgeous pattern. The pure black leather cover has no content, and the edge of the cover is smashed in just right. A buckle, attached to a belt of the same material and a lock to hold both belts.
If Rocket Raccoon had to describe it, this notebook has a kind of rustic horror.
Schiller put the notebook on the table, sat on the soft leather chair himself, let out a sigh, and took out a large pile of pens from the briefcase, Rocket Raccoon recognized it, it was the pen that was captured during the day He spread out the pen on the desk in Arkham's office.
They look well-chosen, and they must be, because Rocket can tell that they come from different production lines, have different processes, and even different years of manufacture.
But Schiller didn't open the pen to start writing immediately, but stretched out his hand to open the drawer, and took out a bottle of ink and a quill pen from the drawer.
"Oh my God, don't you want to use the remains of some poor bird to write?" Rocket Raccoon obviously had never seen such a simple pen, and made a fuss describing it as a part of the bird's carcass.
"You're right. I also like this explanation." Schiller opened his notebook and continued, "I really hope that readers who read this book can also think of this kind of scene."
Rocket Raccoon tilted his head in some confusion. He walked along the edge of the table to the window sill in front of the table, sat down face to face with Schiller, watched Schiller dipping in ink and asked, "Reader? Do you want to give Who wrote the letter? You don't mean to fill it up?"
"Can't you?" Schiller flicked the nib lightly to shake off the excess ink, opened the first page of the black notebook and began to write.
"It was written with a quill."
In Karma Taj's meditation room, Strange and Stark sat opposite each other in front of the round Zen window. The light from the window turned them into two hazy silhouettes.
"But its material analysis data shows that its history has not reached the age when only quill pens can be used." Stark denied, and then whispered to himself as if in deep thought: "Or he There is a unique pursuit, thinking that the words outlined by a part of the bird's carcass will have more vitality."
"Perhaps that's the case." Strange confirmed his thoughts, he changed his posture, put the other arm on the armrest and said: "In that dark age, black magic discussed life and death, even It's even deeper than it is now."
"Do you think this is a note left by a black magician?" This didn't sound like a question, but a blatant denial. Stark looked at Strange opposite and said, "We all After reading the contents, it doesn’t record any magic circles or spells, but more like a weird and terrifying travelogue.”
"But we can't deny that the content is too dark, like the ravings of a lunatic full of grotesque fantasies after being awakened by a nightmare in the middle of the night, ancient and terrifying."
"We should not pay attention to the darkness, but should explore the truth behind it. There is no doubt that this crazy story will not stop in Colorado, and the darkness you care about may also be spreading."
Strange's gaze stayed on a notebook placed in the center of the table. There was no text on the pure black cover, but when he recalled the story described in the first chapter, he still felt his heart tremble.
"On an ordinary summer evening in the Southwest, I came home to Englewood, a place I hadn't been in in years, but more than reminiscing about it, was visiting my mother's grave.
It's a good thing that I don't stand out here, it's been a long time since that horrific accident, people in the town have forgotten a lot of things, and I'm very different.
This is the best news for me, because I understand that what I am going to do this time should not attract too many people's attention, and those horrors should not be too close to ordinary people, but I have reasons to pursue it.
When it was dark and the last rays of the sun were pressed under the last spruce branches, I set foot on the road to the cemetery. The cars on the road were driving in the opposite direction to me. I knew they were thinking that I was a Freak, evening is not a good time to remember loved ones.
……
I came to the cemetery on the outskirts of Englewood, where my mother was buried. Her death was so inhumane that she was buried in the outermost mound, which I thought was fine. Better than the two dead farmhands and the cow.
Walking all the way to the inside of the cemetery, I saw two larks sitting on my mother's tombstone. The little birds are all over Englewood and even the entire state of Colorado. They are elves of the Rocky Mountains, but I am not.
Standing in front of my mother's grave, I began to uncontrollably recall the past days, and what confused and frightened me the most was that this hard-working woman had repeatedly emphasized to me that when I was born, the stars in the sky It became a straight line, as if calling to me, let me go back to them, maybe I should have done this long ago.
I don't know how long it took, the rain also fell, I saw a black figure running through the dense bushes, I put my hand on the gun at my waist, but I found that I was making a fuss, it was just a gun Small animals.
Forgive me, but this hairy, fangsed critter insists on image rights and won't allow me to include any details of his appearance in my book.
Yes, I had to ask his permission, because when he finally came out of the bushes and came up to me, he opened his mouth and spoke standard southern English, yes Say hello to me.
This sounds like the beginning of a fairy tale, but anyone who thinks this way must be deeply surprised by the chaos and darkness I plunged into next. Is this a fascinating story?Maybe not..."
Colorado, in a cemetery on the outskirts of Englewood, a young man was standing by the grave. Two skylarks had just flapped their wings and flew into the sky. An inconspicuous black shadow rushed past the bushes behind the grave. The speed was fast, but it still caused a lot of trouble. Youth attention.
He put his hand on the gun at his waist, but soon realized that it was just a small animal passing by. He sighed softly, reached out and stroked his blond hair, complaining that he was too nervous because of nervousness. sensitive.
When the complaints continued, the raccoon jumped to the top of the tombstone, stretched out a paw, and said to him in southern English:
"Hello, Peter Quill."
(End of this chapter)
It’s raining in New York tonight, dim lights flicker in the windows of old houses on the banks of the Hudson River, and when reflected on the river bank, they look like candles that are about to burn out.
The soft sound of "Ka Ka Ka" came from one of the old houses, and Rocket Raccoon walked up the not-so-wide wooden stairs, following Schiller to the second floor of his small clinic in Hell's Kitchen.
Compared to his office in Arkham Sanitarium, it was almost cramped, packed like a can, Rocket thought.
The first floor of this small clinic is often very lively, those scenes where Schiller is making breakfast in the kitchen, Peter and Pikachu are sitting on the sofa playing games, Natasha is leaning against the door, and Steve who is jogging by in the morning stops by to say hello. Vividly, the peaceful days are always particularly memorable.
And the golden and red figure who stayed up at three o'clock in the middle of the night and landed on the roof of the small clinic. Every tile on the roof of the clinic has engraved Tony Stark's confusion about life and love.
As the figure of Schiller walking in front stepped aside, Rocket Raccoon finally got a full view of the place. There are two rooms on the second floor, one is Schiller's bedroom and the other is a guest room.
Don't expect to find any decent decoration here. The fact that Hell's Kitchen is a slum hasn't been completely changed until now, but when he walked into Schiller's bedroom, Rocket Raccoon was still taken aback.
The space here is not big. After putting a bed, the tables and chairs in front of the window will inevitably look like canned waste stuffed in. This is by no means a random association. Rocket Raccoon shook his head. From top to bottom, there is almost Every space is filled with all kinds of strange collections.
If four lamps on one bedside table weren't enough—the doctor seemed to think so, so he tucked two small candlesticks between the lamps.
Rocket Raccoon suddenly felt that it was not unreasonable for human beings to evolve like this. At least he now felt that his tail was too redundant. As soon as he turned around, the tip of his tail tipped over something.
Rocket Raccoon turned his head and saw that it was a gorgeously decorated easter egg. He wanted to touch the glittering golden decoration, picked up the egg with one hand, and put it in the only remaining corner of the top shelf next to it. , Schiller said with satisfaction: "Faberge egg, very good, isn't it?"
"If the obsessive-compulsive disorder you mentioned before is a disease that can keep your house tidy, then I really hope you have this disease. This place is like a big maze to me." Rocket Raccoon looked around , I had to step my legs carefully, for fear that I would encounter something terrible again.
It is quite possible that there must be some dangerous items in the doctor's eccentric collection, and more dangerous than that, they are all expensive, and if they are broken, he will not be able to afford to sell him. .
At this time, a pair of hands reached Rocket Raccoon's armpit and hugged him. Rocket Raccoon exclaimed, but he didn't struggle. When looking down at these collections from a high position, he found a sense of order from the chaos .
Yes, there are many things here, from Faberge eggs to ink bottles of a certain brand in Switzerland, from berets embroidered with bird patterns to knots hanging on the ground, and even a row of patterns that are exactly the same but in different colors Crystal wine glasses, when these things are stacked together, it will inevitably make people feel a little blocked.
But in fact, these things are arranged in different categories, and there is absolutely no one leaning on other collections in a disfigured manner, and nothing is in the wrong line and appears where it should not be.
This is really weird, Rocket Raccoon thought when he was put on the table, but soon something even weirder appeared, Schiller took out a notebook from his handbag.
When Rocket Raccoon saw this notebook for the first time, he couldn't even confirm whether it was the thing he thought of. It was some kind of collection for recording text, because its appearance seemed to be able to do more things. look.
The huge notebook has a leather cover, and the four corners are edged with metal. The part of the metal that presses the cover is twisted into a gorgeous pattern. The pure black leather cover has no content, and the edge of the cover is smashed in just right. A buckle, attached to a belt of the same material and a lock to hold both belts.
If Rocket Raccoon had to describe it, this notebook has a kind of rustic horror.
Schiller put the notebook on the table, sat on the soft leather chair himself, let out a sigh, and took out a large pile of pens from the briefcase, Rocket Raccoon recognized it, it was the pen that was captured during the day He spread out the pen on the desk in Arkham's office.
They look well-chosen, and they must be, because Rocket can tell that they come from different production lines, have different processes, and even different years of manufacture.
But Schiller didn't open the pen to start writing immediately, but stretched out his hand to open the drawer, and took out a bottle of ink and a quill pen from the drawer.
"Oh my God, don't you want to use the remains of some poor bird to write?" Rocket Raccoon obviously had never seen such a simple pen, and made a fuss describing it as a part of the bird's carcass.
"You're right. I also like this explanation." Schiller opened his notebook and continued, "I really hope that readers who read this book can also think of this kind of scene."
Rocket Raccoon tilted his head in some confusion. He walked along the edge of the table to the window sill in front of the table, sat down face to face with Schiller, watched Schiller dipping in ink and asked, "Reader? Do you want to give Who wrote the letter? You don't mean to fill it up?"
"Can't you?" Schiller flicked the nib lightly to shake off the excess ink, opened the first page of the black notebook and began to write.
"It was written with a quill."
In Karma Taj's meditation room, Strange and Stark sat opposite each other in front of the round Zen window. The light from the window turned them into two hazy silhouettes.
"But its material analysis data shows that its history has not reached the age when only quill pens can be used." Stark denied, and then whispered to himself as if in deep thought: "Or he There is a unique pursuit, thinking that the words outlined by a part of the bird's carcass will have more vitality."
"Perhaps that's the case." Strange confirmed his thoughts, he changed his posture, put the other arm on the armrest and said: "In that dark age, black magic discussed life and death, even It's even deeper than it is now."
"Do you think this is a note left by a black magician?" This didn't sound like a question, but a blatant denial. Stark looked at Strange opposite and said, "We all After reading the contents, it doesn’t record any magic circles or spells, but more like a weird and terrifying travelogue.”
"But we can't deny that the content is too dark, like the ravings of a lunatic full of grotesque fantasies after being awakened by a nightmare in the middle of the night, ancient and terrifying."
"We should not pay attention to the darkness, but should explore the truth behind it. There is no doubt that this crazy story will not stop in Colorado, and the darkness you care about may also be spreading."
Strange's gaze stayed on a notebook placed in the center of the table. There was no text on the pure black cover, but when he recalled the story described in the first chapter, he still felt his heart tremble.
"On an ordinary summer evening in the Southwest, I came home to Englewood, a place I hadn't been in in years, but more than reminiscing about it, was visiting my mother's grave.
It's a good thing that I don't stand out here, it's been a long time since that horrific accident, people in the town have forgotten a lot of things, and I'm very different.
This is the best news for me, because I understand that what I am going to do this time should not attract too many people's attention, and those horrors should not be too close to ordinary people, but I have reasons to pursue it.
When it was dark and the last rays of the sun were pressed under the last spruce branches, I set foot on the road to the cemetery. The cars on the road were driving in the opposite direction to me. I knew they were thinking that I was a Freak, evening is not a good time to remember loved ones.
……
I came to the cemetery on the outskirts of Englewood, where my mother was buried. Her death was so inhumane that she was buried in the outermost mound, which I thought was fine. Better than the two dead farmhands and the cow.
Walking all the way to the inside of the cemetery, I saw two larks sitting on my mother's tombstone. The little birds are all over Englewood and even the entire state of Colorado. They are elves of the Rocky Mountains, but I am not.
Standing in front of my mother's grave, I began to uncontrollably recall the past days, and what confused and frightened me the most was that this hard-working woman had repeatedly emphasized to me that when I was born, the stars in the sky It became a straight line, as if calling to me, let me go back to them, maybe I should have done this long ago.
I don't know how long it took, the rain also fell, I saw a black figure running through the dense bushes, I put my hand on the gun at my waist, but I found that I was making a fuss, it was just a gun Small animals.
Forgive me, but this hairy, fangsed critter insists on image rights and won't allow me to include any details of his appearance in my book.
Yes, I had to ask his permission, because when he finally came out of the bushes and came up to me, he opened his mouth and spoke standard southern English, yes Say hello to me.
This sounds like the beginning of a fairy tale, but anyone who thinks this way must be deeply surprised by the chaos and darkness I plunged into next. Is this a fascinating story?Maybe not..."
Colorado, in a cemetery on the outskirts of Englewood, a young man was standing by the grave. Two skylarks had just flapped their wings and flew into the sky. An inconspicuous black shadow rushed past the bushes behind the grave. The speed was fast, but it still caused a lot of trouble. Youth attention.
He put his hand on the gun at his waist, but soon realized that it was just a small animal passing by. He sighed softly, reached out and stroked his blond hair, complaining that he was too nervous because of nervousness. sensitive.
When the complaints continued, the raccoon jumped to the top of the tombstone, stretched out a paw, and said to him in southern English:
"Hello, Peter Quill."
(End of this chapter)
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