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Entry tags:
065. Coda
[In the cabin, Brock and Molotov have been having a heated argument. As heated as an argument can be when it's completely silent, anyway. Gesturing wildly, choking gestures in the air, and a lot of pointing.
Finally, Brock manages to get her to understand he wants her to check on his car. It's important to make sure the Charger is safe, that the garage is secure; if worst comes to worst, they can pile in as many people as they can and make a quick getaway. Once she storms off to do as he asks (he's pretty sure she's going to scratch the paint deliberately but that's okay), Brock snaps open the journal and writes.]
[Like everything else lately, the following is written. Printed, actually; he's trying to make this as legible as possible so it can reach even little kids or people who aren't too literate.]
This is Brock. If you still need somewhere to stay, somewhere safe, I have a cabin southwest of the castle, off the main road. We can all take turns keeping watch, at least until we figure out wh
[The pen jerks to the side, leaving a jagged line and an ink smear.
There's the sound of... something... for about a half minute, sounds of violence. Blows landing, furniture being broken.
Then there's nothing.
And then the door slams. Hurried footsteps, stiletto heels on hard wood. The sound of something hitting the ground hard.
The pen touches the page again, the handwriting different than Brock's. A shaky, quick scrawl.
After, the sound of things breaking -- dishes, glass; fragile things that make noise when they break. Someone trying desperately to get the attention of someone. Anyone.]
Finally, Brock manages to get her to understand he wants her to check on his car. It's important to make sure the Charger is safe, that the garage is secure; if worst comes to worst, they can pile in as many people as they can and make a quick getaway. Once she storms off to do as he asks (he's pretty sure she's going to scratch the paint deliberately but that's okay), Brock snaps open the journal and writes.]
[Like everything else lately, the following is written. Printed, actually; he's trying to make this as legible as possible so it can reach even little kids or people who aren't too literate.]
This is Brock. If you still need somewhere to stay, somewhere safe, I have a cabin southwest of the castle, off the main road. We can all take turns keeping watch, at least until we figure out wh
[The pen jerks to the side, leaving a jagged line and an ink smear.
There's the sound of... something... for about a half minute, sounds of violence. Blows landing, furniture being broken.
Then there's nothing.
And then the door slams. Hurried footsteps, stiletto heels on hard wood. The sound of something hitting the ground hard.
The pen touches the page again, the handwriting different than Brock's. A shaky, quick scrawl.
After, the sound of things breaking -- dishes, glass; fragile things that make noise when they break. Someone trying desperately to get the attention of someone. Anyone.]
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Having some trouble there, Conan?
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I mean really, it's been only five minutes and you've already made a widow cry and annoyed the other investigators enough to get kicked out.
Is this how your detective work usually goes?
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Dairine. Get out of my head.
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Fine. But don't expect any help from me in getting out of this mess then.