Parker Ramsey, Speed Racer, (hereshecomes) wrote in repose, @ 2018-03-03 13:24:00 |
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Entry tags: | *narrative, pj ramsey |
PJ narrative thingy thingy
Who: PJ and some Peripheral NPCs
Where: Repose, then Nebraska
When: Recent past to present - during and after this
What: A series of things that happen as a result of being flashy thinged by an amateur.
Warnings/Rating: Eh, language, some super mild mentions of wolfy face biting.
Okay so maybe she was standing there like she didn't know her name or where she was. But PJ definitely knew her name. She was a little unclear on the where she was thing until she stepped outside into the chilly night air of her hometown. Then, she knew exactly where she was. She looked North and saw the Fill-Up Station, the lights weren't on (it was late) but she saw the street lamps outside and saw the familiar outline of the buildings her family had owned since before she was born. She looked at the house behind her. She was standing on the front porch of the Carriage House out behind the old B&B, which was weird.
Okay - the whole damn thing was weird. She wasn't supposed to be in her hometown at all. Her eyes scanned the scenery in front of her a bit more. Her Hemicuda was parked outside the Carriage House, her dad's flatbed tow truck was parked up behind it with a 1953 Caribbean on the back of it. It had pretty good bones from the look of it, but she refused to let herself be distracted. What was she doing here? Not just in the carriage house behind the old B&B, but in Repose at all?
She reached into her pocket, phone, keys, package of m&ms. Her keys didn't look entirely familiar, as she tossed them around her hand, and that was definitely a new phone. But her screen was a picture of the very same Hemicuda that was parked in front of the tow truck, so she knew it was hers. Her keys had some weird unknown keys on it, she recognized the keys to the tow truck so she hustled over to it and climbed up into the beast, Lucille - this one was called - and saw a purse on the passenger seat and it smelled more like her than it did her dad almost immediately upon getting up into it. Which...Wasn't right.
She opened up her phone and looked through her contacts to actually call her dad, but - he wasn't in her phone. Which, was also weird. But as luck would have it the only phone numbers she still had memorized was the number to the fill-up station and the number to the house she'd grown up in. The fill-up station was closed, so she dialed the number to the house...It didn't even ring before she got the 'we're sorry the number you have dialed has either been disconnected or is no longer in service.'
Her dad would never disconnect the house phone. He was old school like that.
She sat in the cab of the truck for another long moment. Trying not to panic and failing miserably.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
What was she doing here? She wasn't supposed to be here, she wasn't supposed to leave the pack and she definitely didn't remember getting permission. She couldn't even smell them on her anymore. She didn't even...Miss them.
Something had happened. Something weird had happened, and she didn't know what, but she needed to get back or else they were going to show up here.
The tow truck was here for a reason, the car on the back wasn't hers, but the car in front of it was. She started up the engine to the tow truck and backed it up onto the street, like a pro (because she was, lets be real). She parked the truck and its payload on the street out front of the Carriage House and made her way up to her own car. She didn't even think about if she had stuff, she just needed to get back to Nebraska, and figure things out from there. Before they came to this town and figured things out for her.
There were weird smells all over her, and all over the interior of her car. One familiar. Atticus. Okay. She'd figure that out too. Everything would just have to wait though. Everything. She started the engine, it rumbled just like it was supposed to, and she was off. She couldn't help herself though, it was like she was barely in control of her muscles as she drove the familiar streets through town and toward the house she had lived in most of her life. There was a new fence up in front of it. It was painted a different color. New cars parked in the driveway. And her mother's rose bushes had been yanked out entirely.
Tires squealed as she sped down the street and ran every stop sign between her old house and the interstate.