WHO: Jonah Trimble and Laura Kinney WHAT: "I just needed to get away," i.e. my brother is terrible and also there are stray zombies ....and Denny's! WHERE: The ~mean streets of Red Oak ...and Denny's! WHEN: January 14th, 2011 STATUS: In progress RATING: PG13-ish? This is subject to change; either way violence and language are involved. NEVER MIND, now it's rated H for HEADS EXPLODING.
All things considered, Jonah's Saturday started out as mundanely as could be expected post alternate dimension and near death experience.
It's been five days since Jonah and Seth passed out in their burning house and woke up in a previously unheard of town in Delaware; a week ago they were 'feeding the birds.' Since then they have been treated for smoke inhalation, concussion, numerous cuts and bruises, broken bones (Seth), a poorly treated severed ring finger (Jonah), one bullet wound (Seth again), and a partridge bleeding in a pear tree. They've secured temporary lodgings at the gatehouse of Ms. Vale ("Ms. Vale, ma'am," the twins insist, probably until they are stopped with duct tape)'s fine establishment, and this morning Jonah even had something like a job interview.
He's never had one of those before, so that was an experience that hasn't been threaded yet, whoops. It made him feel like a grownup, excited and scared in about equal measure even if he could feel Seth glowering from the middle distance. The hospital had issued him a wheelchair until his leg could heal, an indignity which seemed to be drawing more of the elder twin's ire than anything else about their situation. Then there had been the spat on the network, a vicious exchange of barbs Jonah was still smarting from hours later when he'd woken up and helped Seth get dressed before he left to meet Lois.
They had spoken minimally. ("I'll be back." "Fine.") Seth's stony silence wasn't new, per se; when they fought, which was rare, it was always Jonah whose tolerance for quiet gave out first. But he hadn't expected (come on, i want to show you something) what had happened once he'd gotten back to the gatehouse (it's a surprise).
So now between the two of them, they had a grand total of eighteen fingers. (i told you we were the same.)
Jonah had dropped the towel he was holding and left the house instantly, (what about the blood?) white-faced and shaking (there's an effect, right?) and as quiet as his brother had been that morning. He hadn't bothered with a coat--hell, if he hadn't been wearing shoes already he'd probably have forgone those, too. He guessed he was just lucky.
(there's supposed to be.)
He's been walking for what feels like hours, zig-zaging this way and that at random, just trying to put as much distance between himself and Seth as he could; Seth in his wheelchair couldn't come after him, and he supposes he'll have to pay for that later. Now it's close to dark and definitely too cold to be coatless, especially when the fluctuations of his blood sugar mean that he loses body heat so easily, and tears and snot have dried in tracks on his face, a decidedly unlovely image that he cares about approximately as much as he cares about the cold, which is to say not at all. He'll need his shot soon, and then he'll have to start heading back, but until then he just keeps walking. The bare trees around him rustle like creaking bones, January wind razoring their naked branches, and Jonah keeps walking.