Re: tandy & holly; the music store
Tandy tried not to think about jail. The kind for people with powers - she wasn't calling them super, okay, it made everything one notch weirder on the way toward a reality straight out of the comic-books at the store - or the regular kind. Jail was very definitely off-limits as a thinking, ruminating, considering kind of topic. No, on jail. She thought, watching Holly shuffle through to the door and lock it, vaguely of Bea. If she'd made it out somewhere, hit the big time or the small-screen, pilot-season type time. People got out of Repose, and some people stayed here forever.
The storeroom was way spacious for a store that occupied a lot of floor space and Tandy shook her head when he talked about the other him, because that wasn't what she'd meant. "Noah," she clarified, because as much as she had the same vague fuzzies for the old Holly as she did pretty much anyone else in her graduating class, a combo of proximity and longevity - the guy was dead. Which was moderately troubling, if the other-her (him?) had gotten himself killed over here, was swapping legitimately possible if there wasn't a 'her' here?
Ruminating on that, which sucked surprisingly harder than thinking about jail, and she ignored the stuff about the field. It was harder than it looked. She had to picture shit in her head to get the knife to come, and she thought about brickwork at her back and the face looming out of an alley and Tandy's breath sharpened, and the light was suddenly there, bright and loud in her hand. It felt like physics, closing a circuit or something because she could feel the existence of the thing thrum. The light source was like a dozen lamps and she thought about the scrape of brick over skin and her throat dried out, but she had the knife. Tandy's throw wasn't great. She'd never played softball, she'd never been a sports person, point blank, but the knife turned over and over in the air and hit the wall, unnervingly centric.