Re: log: connie/atticus
Atticus had screamed once in his lifetime, that he could recall. He'd been four, and he didn't remember what he'd seen then. But nothing after was enough to make him scream, and he'd seen a lot of after. He didn't scream now. It didn't mean he wasn't shitting his pants, but he didn't scream. Okay, he wasn't actually shitting his pants, but the descriptor remained a valid one. "The cookie's a nice touch. Very Matrix." His expression was, he hoped, accepting. After all, who was he to judge skeletons? He had a closet full of them.
"Long time to be looking for someone," he said of those fifteen years. But the skeleton situation, that required more thought, and he shut the boombox off. Silence. This required silence. A few seconds passed before he articulated his subsequent thoughts. Atticus never rushed, even at moments like this. "When you come back to your time, you get your skin back?" He asked, wanting to make sure he understood correctly. "What's to say you won't get trapped like he did? Too, if you can get back, why can't he?"
He noticed her tugging the jacket close belatedly. "It'll warm up." He hoped it would warm up.