Brennan Gallagher | Acheron Parthenopaeus (apostolos) wrote in thereincarnates, @ 2015-11-11 21:55:00 |
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Entry tags: | bren gallagher, hannah ryan |
WHO: Hannah and Bren
WHERE: Bren’s apartment
WHEN: Backdated to Monday evening, November 9th, after Hannah speaks to David about the gossip blog
WHAT: Hannah is freaking out a little, so she goes to Bren.
Hannah felt numb. It wasn’t because of the cold, though it was chilly out. No, Hannah supposed she was in shock. That was the best way to describe her state of being, anyway, like a person in shock. Only her injury, so to speak, was more psychological than physical. There probably wasn’t psychological precedent for the state of one’s mind directly after finding out that you had been dead, and the only reason you weren’t was because the person you were closest to had made a deal with a demon to bring you back. David’s soul was on the chopping block, and for what? So that she was alive? Her life wasn’t worth hell for her brother, and it was that that was weighing on her the heaviest.
She didn’t remember going to the MTN, or the walk from the MTN to Bren’s apartment building. Somehow she’d ended up there, like her feet had automatically known where she needed to go. She couldn’t go home right then; home was where David was, and she needed some time away to deal with the guilt and process what this meant for them. Seeing him, being around her brother, it just clouded her judgment with emotions. She needed to deal with that before they could talk again, and with two demons still out there looking for her and David, anywhere they knew about wasn’t safe. But Bren’s--they didn’t know about there. And surprisingly, she needed his company.
She stood staring up at the building as the rain poured down as she tried to sift through the mud that was her thoughts right then, each one darker than the other and threatening to pull her under if she dwelled too long. She didn’t know what she was going to tell him, if anything at all, but eventually it got to be too cold to stand out there in the Autumn shower. She made her way inside, and eventually down the hallway to his apartment door, trailing wet footprints behind her. The longer she stood there, the more water dripped from her damp clothes and hair, leaving a puddle around her on the floor. Finally, she lifted a hand to knock, waiting in apprehension for him to answer the door.
“I think I died,” She blurted out as soon as it opened. No greeting, no smooth and easy transition into the rough discussion, just straight to the point, and she immediately looked shocked that the words had escaped at all.