Re: log: hannah and ren
Hannah would've thought this was thrilling, had it not been for the reason why they were there. The energy, the people, and even the danger that coated the air like fog low in valleys, it was all amazing to eyes that hadn't ever set upon something like this. The dead girl had been rich and happy and wrapped in cotton balls and bubble wrap, and it was only the farce of a marriage that had turned her life into something tarnished and gone to rust. These things were new to Hannah, but the reason, the reason made everything terrible, and she couldn't enjoy the newness of any of it.
"I don't want, but I think I have to. Have you ever needed to see something to learn if it was as bad as you thought it was? Like hiding under the blankets because there's a monster crawling from the closet, but you just need to peek out and see what it looks like, even if you know it's going to be bad." It was like that, and she squeezed his fingers and handed their tickets to the takers.
Inside, the warehouse was gutted and completely empty in the center. Makeshift bleachers lined the space in a square, borrowed and mismatched, wood and blue paint and rust, and there were vendors selling ice creams and peanuts and popcorn, beers and soda. Hannah followed the tide, the movement of the moving crowd, and she picked a bleacher seat low and near to the ground, thinking that was best in case everything was too terribly awful to bear.
Around them, people screamed and children ran wild, and the man behind them rubbed at his beard and told a story about a girl he'd seen cut in two at one of these places. He laughed loudly, the man, like it was the best thing he'd ever experienced, and Hannah gave Ren a concerned little look. "They say most of the robots don't look human," she reassured him, because this felt better somehow and important somehow. She hadn't let go his hand.