Re: log: connie/atticus
Atticus thought about slowing things down. "Think I'd like slowing things down better than speeding things up. Why do you like it?" He knew about his own disinterest in the world going by too fast, but Connie seemed the type who would like loud and fast. But he was old, and maybe it was just the snowy hair throwing him off. "Only show me if it won't harm you." First, do no harm, which he hadn't always managed early in his life, but he'd been trying to walk a neutral line ever since.
"Let you in on a secret," he said, his grin warm, even in light of the chill in the air and the odd secrets the night had brought alongside the cookies. "Am the most irresponsible man you'll meet. Don't want to be responsible for anyone. How about I just lackadaisically wave pompoms for you from the sidelines?" Which was why, when she mentioned Area-52, the uncertainty that crossed his features was just that, uncertainty, without any heat of motion behind it. "You need somewhere to stash it, there's plenty of space in the attic or on the grounds. Or, could try to get him back." He offered kindly, though he wasn't very sure about that, either.
There was a ghost at the top of the stairs, but the only thing visible was the hem of her black dress. Old, tattered, and the ghost was only partially upon the stair. Her feet were a bloodless white, bone visible beneath the illusion of skin as she retreated. "They had a hard life," he said of his parents, as he watched the old spectre climb.
"Me?" He shook his head slowly, with minimal effort. "Not much to tell. Will, Michael, Carver, I was their after school group adviser when I taught high school English. They liked summoning things they shouldn't summon." Simple, and not all that shocking in the light of her revelations.