|Harry Lockhart used to be great. Now he’s amazing (bad_narrator) wrote in wariscoming,|
@ 2014-02-21 01:41:00
|Entry tags:||harry lockhart, jacen solo|
Who: Harry Lockhart, Jacen Solo
What: Harry’s losing the fight for his sanity. Jacen finally tracks him down
Where: One of Harry’s hiding places in New York City
When: Friday night, February 21, 2014
Warnings: Language, potential violence, Harry’s lack of sanity
Status: Closed, ongoing
(cut text lyrics from Losing my Religion, by R.E.M.)
It wasn’t working. Why wasn’t it working? Well, he supposed he knew why, really, this was the cage meant to hold Lucifer for eternity, but that didn’t help the frustration. You lose more if you don’t play into it, that was the message it had tried to sling him, but he couldn’t anymore. If he couldn’t fit into what it wanted him to do, and he couldn’t force its hand, then how would he get out of this? Was he just stuck in this part of the cage forever, waiting for the moment when they’d start tearing into him?
It had been over two weeks since he’d stabbed Spike and disappeared from Lawrence and they either hadn’t found him yet or were waiting to catch him off-guard. Just walking down the streets felt like the Matrix, all these people just filler, little slips and figments designed to make him feel at home, and the moment he relaxed, any one of them could end up being the one that caught him out. He knew Sherlock at least had been looking for him. New York was his city; he knew how to navigate the seedy back alleys and slummy neighborhoods and blend in with the other dregs of society, but this was only going to last so long. The cage was creating all this after all; it already knew where to find him. This was all part of the game.
His eyes burned and his stomach was churning, nicotine and exhaustion gouging his senses. Funny how even in a fantasy world his body fell prey to stress. He’d holed up in the office of some old abandoned building, settled himself in the corner behind the desk for the night. It was cold and there was no power or running water, but it was dry and no other derelicts had laid claim to it yet, so at least he had some level of privacy. Harry slipped a cigarette out of the carton and lit it; he was down to his last two. Maybe if he was lucky he'd end up somewhere where that wouldn't matter anymore.