Re: #15: Juliet & Claire
"Wainright." Claire repeated the name from the bottom of the invitation. "Wainright was the train." That name didn't mean much of anything to Claire, but she'd looked into it after the incident. There was nothing to suggest that the company was involved in the dark arts, but that's not to say that it wasn't. There was more to say to make her point, about how it's gatherings of a particular size, or just the energy of the town in general, but those ideas rolled loose in her head like screws in a paint mixer.
Juliet was a survivor, that much was apparent. She didn't seem particularly phased by the weirdness that was happening (upset? absolutely.), and her strength was admirable. She'd do well in the Inquisition, though Claire imagined that Juliet wouldn't be particularly fond nor interested in the idea. Especially if she was already sick of what was happening in town. This was nothing.
Flash of light and crack. Okay, maybe it wasn't nothing. Claire wrapped her arm over Juliet's shoulder and gave her a nod, "Yeah. Okay. Let's just go." And they were already off, the brunt of Claire's weight supported by Juliet. They just had to find somewhere safe, but where? Her eyes scanned the treeline, but there was nothing. Nothing until the clouds parted in the distance, bathing a small cabin in soft moonlight. They had to get there. It was protected.
No, there was no logic behind the decision. It was a feeling. "There. Over that little stream." Claire nodded her head in the direction of the cabin, paying little attention to the sticky blood that made her shirt cling to her side. Nor did she pay much mind to the fact that there was more water than there was blood. She was just pleased to have assistance with her weakened pace.