terry boot. (thisisterryble) wrote in reoccurrence, @ 2020-07-10 14:55:00 |
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The past few days had quickly become an interesting collection of internal debates on morality, silent sneaky panic attacks, and dutiful compartmentalization. The article in the Prophet had in no small way turned things upside down. A phrase that he'd always heard his father say kept popping up in Terry's mind - "It's right there in black and white, plain as day." The contrast between the ink and the newsprint was a terribly cruel thing to behold for children of no grey areas. A stark reminder that there was no grey area here, either, should any of it be true. Terry knew something about it was true -- he cold feel the way Ant had shifted before he'd come home properly pissed from a rare social outing. Terry had the gift of being a least a little removed. Supplementing occasional research had not bought him a proper place in the RMT and for a moment, his own curious nature aside, he was quite glad of it. It was easier to ignore the moral debates, the sneaky hate spirals, and the questioning glances of those ministry workers who were, like him, not in that particular department. It was a right proper mess, and while he'd like to blame Zach Smith for it all, he was doing exactly what he'd meant to be doing. "Oi, anyone home?" Terry called out as he practically fell through the door with all the grace of a newly-born giraffe. His bag was slung across his chest, but the plastic takeaway bags made the keys a difficult tangle in his hand. The door was kicked shut and the food dropped on the nearest surface (in this instance, the couch). The bag was soon to follow, being forgotten before it even hit the floor next to the sofa. It would stay exactly there until Monday morning when he would trip over himself in a frantic search to get out the door. "Just me, then?" He said quietly, reaching for the grinder he'd left next to his bong on the coffee table. Yesterday's leftovers would be good enough for a first round. He sat down next to the bags from Negril to load the bowl. After all, what was a better cure for it all than weed, and watching his mates writhe on the floor from the moment pepper sauce touched their tongues? |