Margaret Shield (sophist) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2018-01-30 23:40:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | !narrative, r * chel, r: margaret shield |
WHO: Margaret Shield
WHEN: Tonight
WHERE: Her home
SUMMARY: Margaret starts to remember post-war life
WARNINGS:N/A
“Because unless I have your reports, your coffee, or your lunch, I’m invisible.” The handcuffs, shackled tightly around her wrist, cut unforgivingly into her skin and spurred the quiet rage directed at the two men sitting opposite her. The older, Dooley, seemed capable of more. But the other? The short, dark man with his own secrets. Daniel. His own sort of lost cause. She could remember feeling emboldened by her investigations and the seeking of truth. She remembered the desperation inherent in the telling to protect people against her. (In her dream she reached out, seeking for a name, coming up empty handed.) But she also knew the cuffs weren’t to keep her in place. They were to keep the men on the other side of the table and the other side of the glass from experiencing her wrath. She knew that, unshackled, she could do what needed to be done in order to make progress and ensure peace. A few cracked skulls along the way? All in a day’s work. And she remembered insinuating such with a flick of her wrist at a rangy Agent with blonde hair. Jack. Good God, she was truly surrounded by incompetent swine. … and by Cabernet Sauvignon spilling out all over the counter. The wine glass, having reached its max, now let its contents loose. Margaret upended the bottle quickly and bent down, drinking down the excess from the glass, before she reached for a towel and began to blot her mess. These daydreams were coming far more frequently. And they seemed knit together by this chestnut-headed Agent, her past with a scientific something. All with the search for some kind of justice. It made her roll her eyes at herself. She had to be cracking up, just like her own Mum predicted. |