claire dearing is an olympic sprinter (heels) wrote in witchinghour,
"Here as in, he was trapped like the rest of us?" Claire asked, swallowing a bite of donut that suddenly felt like brick. She needed this coffee, stat, and picked up a to-go cup as she slid closer on her wheely-chair thing and sipped the tar-like ambrosia, green eyes taking a look at the notes to decipher them. "Because he reminds me a lot of myself, in that instance. Is this a cautionary tale, that I shouldn't take notes or photos about what goes on around here?"
Well, screw that. Taking notes and organizing a hellhole was all she had to contribute - she wasn't a potions or weapons master, wasn't some superhero, wasn't even all that special. But her efforts paid off - during the last emergency, things had gone a lot smoother than they would have if she and others hadn't developed the protocols they did.
"And actually, I think Redrum before it became Redrum was a general corporate entity, as in, the city's government building of sorts? Okay, so 'murder' backward is kind of creepy, but..." What wasn't creepy about their prison?