It. (rasatabula) wrote in repose, @ 2018-09-07 21:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | *forum, *narrative, cat dubrovna, dahlia haight, eddie nelson, jack penhaligon, leena bertolini |
[Narrative], Dahlia H, Cat C, Eddie N, Leena B
[It wasn't that Jack looked for trouble. He didn't; he wasn't mad and he wasn't twenty one and gaspingly eager. It was more that when trouble choked the town, clotted it with chaos, he remembered what it was like when it wasn't slow, when he wasn't sitting looking at the accounts for a speakeasy and a roller-rink, when he wasn't a small-town business owner with a newspaper in flitters. It was that trouble had hit, full-force as it did in Repose. He recalled the year they'd all seen things, ghastly and visceral and the speculation then it had been an experiment. This seemed, inevitably, like a full-force 'experiment' conducted with the achingly wide lens of someone looking to see what came out of the woodwork.
And so he didn't immediately think of bunkering in. He shut the places after the first reports; there were dull considerations like insurance if he felt like considering them (and Jack didn't) but it would have been a distraction, wondering if all hell was going to kick off in his absence. He waited, and the throbbing - vague, but present - that he felt was like being crammed into the front section of a rock concert. Disconcerting, obviously, but he wasn't having flushes of madness, he didn't feel like murdering anyone, he wasn't seeing things that weren't there. When the bloody great snake had appeared, when the forest scorched and the sound continued to roll through town relentlessly, chasing everyone with a sensitivity out into the open - was that the point? He made the move.
Out. Looking for source, looking for the observation. Would they have done it without observing it? Who was doing the observing? Jack stuffed notepad into pocket, stuffed his ears with cotton-wool (he didn't think there was a damn bit of difference, but precaution, obviously) and skirted the edges, looking for what in gods name he could actually see. It felt risky, but that also felt - well, more bloody alive than looking at accounts. On the way out, he stuffed his phone into his pocket, tossed the keys under the mat and lit out through town.
[Dahlia H]
[....] Dahlia?
[Cat C]
All right?
[Eddie N]
You've no idea where this is coming from?
[Leena B]
Are you OK?