Re: [Jester's Court: Cat & Jack]
Jack had given up on sense. He'd lost to sense, what felt like bloody eons ago when he had managed to dig out something old and crusty and capable of summoning up the metaphysical in the back-room of a book-shop in bloody London and taken it home. No, reason had no place in this. It was utterly unreasonable to have the seventies drop by for an exclusive showing of 'the amusement park time forgot' but that made it ever the more plausible in Repose or the nearest vicinity. It was warm, summer heat and bodies, and Jack didn't think about the out.
Funny, really. After all that shite about not seeing a way out but Jack had absolutely no apprehensions about getting lost or stuck or fucked over. No, all of that was infinitely better than the vague feeling of wearing a shirt several sizes too small that constricted the more he churned trying to find a way to get rid of it. His shirt wasn't, thanks. He wore a t-shirt, something old and cotton and with the name of a university he'd been at oh-so-briefly written across the front in deeply faded script that had practically worn away from washing, and jeans: the latter expensive, the former achingly casual and he wasn't rolling, but god, with this crowd it was likely a possibility.
There were delighted(?) - you could never be entirely sure with magic fucking fun-houses - screams ringing in his ears and the smell of burned sugar and pot in the air and all right, if you were going to go along with this, make it a story, what would you do? Commit, take a bloody ride on a mechanical thing that, if you squinted, appeared to be operating without anyone stood by the controls. And Jack didn't expect Cat to cleave out of the crowd, slim-hipped and achingly confident. He didn't know anything about cardigans, but presumably that had ridden out of his grandfather's closet and back into fashion, filed under 'irony'.
"Take in a magical mystery tour of something that's meant to be long-gone? Yes, can't think why that would appeal to me." Jack inhaled, sweet musty smoke and a vague sense of being a marked card thrown in a pack on a game without high enough stakes to bother with cheating. So much for that. Cat was an inch, maybe two taller than him. It was still a fucking trip.
"I am surprised to see you." He didn't sound it, but Jack sounded wildly more mellow than he had in weeks.