Josh Russo (beworthwhile) wrote in madisonvalley, @ 2022-09-19 22:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, !open, [plot] clown motel, josh russo (beworthwhile), ~2022 september, ~jonathan tipton-clarke (dontcallmebugsy |
Who: Josh Russo and Open
What: Facing some trauma
When: Monday evening
Where: The cemetery
Warnings: TBA
Status: Open/On-going
To say that Josh wasn't a fan of cemeteries was a damn understatement. Not that he'd ever been the biggest fan, but after Greg? He was even less of one. So of course what was he doing, instead of staying in the relative safety of the creepy clown hotel and his creepy clown room?
Yep, he was exploring the cemetery.
It wasn't entirely terrible, surprisingly. Oh, it wasn't someplace he actually wanted to be. And it wasn't someplace he'd ever choose to come back to. But it wasn't as scary as he'd been worrying about. He wasn't sure what that said -- though it probably wasn't anything good -- but he wasn't going to argue with it. Even if he probably should, because why would the dome let anything be even marginally less painful than it should be? The dome wasn't actively nice to people, he'd learned that one real fast.
The cemetery was quiet, quieter than it should be considering it was right next door to a motel full of people with nothing better to do than get on each other's nerves in a variety of ways and at a variety of paces. He was distracted by that thought, distracted enough that he didn't realize just how far into the cemetery he'd gotten until he was already there. "Okay, just breathe," he muttered. "Just breathe. It's quiet and it's creepy. It's not like the cemetery you were in with Greg."
Which was... only marginally helpful. A cemetery was still a cemetery, and bad memories were still bad memories.
And his were bad memories he'd be perfectly content to ignore the existence of forever.
Except he couldn't, which meant it was a very high-strung Josh that couldn't quite manage to make himself walk away from the cemetery.
That sound he'd just heard, though, was doing a real good job of motivating him; he spun around, eyes wide and pulse racing.
He was no longer okay with any of this.