Noah (sweven) wrote in genome_project, @ 2011-03-10 17:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | february 2011, macy jones, march 2011, noah riley |
BACKDATED.
WHO: Noah Riley and Macy Jones
WHAT: Concern! Forgetting!
WHEN: BACKDATED; Feb. 16th; late evening, after this!
A text message had buzzed Noah's phone as it sat snug in the back pocket of his dark jeans. He was busy at home, lying sprawled out on his bed (which consisted of a mattress on the floor, covered in a nest of blankets), reading a translation of Prometheus Bound. His sunglasses were propped on top of his head, a cigarette was hanging lit from his mouth, and his eyes were moving across the old pages in front of them. -- And then the phone buzzed, disturbing his concentration.
And then, for kicks, it buzzed again. Noah groaned and lifted his ass off the mattress, uncrossing his feet to do so, and fished the irritating piece of plastic out of his pocket. It clattered to the floor and showed a message from Macy. With another sound of frustration, Noah picked the thing up and read a very cryptic bit of text. "Noah," it read. "The mayor I didnt mean to do it. Hes gold."
Although Noah wasn't exactly sure what Macy hadn't meant to do, he felt his heart suddenly drop to his stomach. He quickly responded once, then twice. He waited for a moment. When no further messages came through elucidating him to the situation at hand, he frowned, threw his book down, sucked his cigarette once more, stubbed it out on the corner of his nightstand, then pressed the little call button.
It went to Macy's voicemail. Her perky little "hey!" peeped out from the phone into his ear. He hung up. Then he pressed call again. "Hey this is Macy! I'm not here right now but I'll get back to you as -" Click. "What the fuck." Maybe his heart was beating faster than called for, but...
Noah threw his own phone onto the bed and pulled himself to his feet. He knew what he had to do. He stepped into his heavy winter boots, pulled an old wool sweater over his ratty t-shirt, and slid his sunglasses down to their rightful place. He snatched up the stubbed out cigarette, his clunky lighter, various coins, keys, and his wallet. Then came his coat. He zipped it up to his chin.
There were feelings beginning to stir in his chest and stomach that he didn't like. One of which was a looming, huge sense of worry. Things turning gold were not good when it came to Macy. And the mayor? That couldn't be good. A million thoughts of varying degrees of horribleness flew through Noah's head as he stomped downstairs and squeezed himself into his car. After a few turns of the keys in the ignition, it finally started up, choking smoke out of its muffler.
Was Macy okay? Had something happened? She only managed to turn things gold when she was upset. Noah flashed through stop signs and barreled towards Macy's apartment. Luckily, he was seemingly alone on the roads. - Soon, he was squeaking to a stop out front of her building, slamming the door closed on his car, and hurrying towards her door. He had a key - didn't he? A few minutes passed, filled with various curse words, as Noah fumbled in his many pockets for Macy's key.
He couldn't find it. Fuck. Shit. Fine. He pushed the little white button labeled 'Jones' and heard a faraway buzz. Then he hit it again.