Richard Greyson is (agentacrobat) wrote in repose, @ 2016-01-12 00:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | *log, cat dubrovna, dick greyson |
[Log: Richard Greyson and Cat Catalone - The Mean-eyed Cat]
Who: Richard and Cat
Where: The Mean-Eyed Cat
When: Sunday Night
What: Maybe she can convince him he's not about to be murdered. By her. Today. Right Now.
Warnings: General Mind Insanity - How About Some Perry Como to go with that Insanity?
Oh he was getting the hell out of dodge with a swifness, first the dreams, the nicknames, the stranger on the forum, then Eddie? Richard was blowing this popsicle stand before whatever, or whoever, was after him showed up and laid waste to this town.
Alright. Alright. It was getting more dramatic by the second the more he thought about it. And in the back of his mind it seemed ridiculous, but for some reason, highly plausible that someone of that caliber would be trying to kill him. His mind raced, and for the first time since his arrival and his swearing off all the drugs, he popped a pill to calm his nerves and continued packing his backpack up as quickly as he could.
Back at home, in Texas, he'd often wondered why he remembered his wife but didn't feel attachment to those memories. They'd told him it was the PTSD. He could buy that. Until now. When he grasped hold of dark spots, quick bursts of truth in dreamland, silly nicknames, and the inexplicable horror of falling...He felt those. Attachment like no other but they were out of his reach. They were terrifying and too real to be really real. If they were real he'd know more. He was playing into the hands of the people around him, they were putting ideas into his mind, and he had to find out why.
He first thought about going back home, back to his life, his wife, his house and his therapy. He'd made a mistake leaving, that was his home, and they had been right all along. But then he remembered what he feared there as well. The empty feeling, the cloud of doubt that hung in the air, a miasma of suspicion that he couldn't see through. He'd even once told his doctors his wife wasn't who she said she was. They'd upped his medication, and she'd become different after that. Better. Sweeter. Or maybe he'd become more accepting.
No. Those questions still hung too heavily. He had to keep moving further away. Maybe Jersey. No Why Jersey? Why always fucking Jersey? Were there answers there? Were people trying to tell him something? No he was bats. Lunatic. Bats in the belfry crazy.
He hitched a ride to the bus station, and bought a ticket to Jersey. He had several hours to kill.
He walked, in the cold, to the One-Eyed Cat. Eddie said she'd jog something. The joke was on him, he was sure. But he couldn't leave this town without knowing. Without looking into someone's eyes. Eddie, the guy on the forum, he didn't know what to think. He didn't know if he trusted the woman he was walking to meet. Even as he opened the door and stepped inside, boots laced, hair dotted with snowfall ,and cheeks rosy from the cold. Backpack slung over his arm, winter coat buttoned, he was leaving town. Stopping in for a drink.
He didn't even know who he was looking for. Until he saw her. It wasn't a knock you to your knees memory boost. It wasn't even a memory. It was just a face to put to a voice that he'd only heard once in his dream. No. He'd go up. She'd talk, he'd see he was crazy. Drink until he was numb, get on his bus, and leave.
He slid onto the stool sliding the bag between his knees and unzipping his coat. He was wary in every movement, he looked at her carefully, cautiously, but still blue eyes sparkled, they couldn't help it. He wasn't on the defensive, he was just...Well, he was afraid. And when he was afraid, he smiled. "Fancy meeting you here."