![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
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.]
no subject
He's not paying attention to them though, or to the ground anymore. He's watching Joshua, and trying to make out what he's signing. It's not a whole lot of use, but he doesn't want to interrupt what he's doing by tapping on his journal to get him to write it out.]
no subject
Metal? Can't tell if that was already there. He's missing his heart.
no subject
He nods, signalling like he understands. It's probably too much to assume that the other bodies in there are all that's left of them.]
no subject
He'll write it down again. ]
Why are you even here?
no subject
I owed him.
no subject
You're doing nothing. So you owed him what? A smoke?
no subject
no subject
But he realizes that was exactly it, and had misjudged the importance of it. (Everyone smokes, why is it so important?) Joshua grabs his arm, then let's go, and points to his pocket. ]
no subject
Spike isn't in the mood to guess what he's after, and stares coolly back at him, daring him to mime out exactly what he wants.]
no subject
Glancing down to the crushed cigarette, he pushes at it with his toe. ]
no subject
Spike looks again in the direction he was going, then fishes out the crumpled pack of cigarettes in his pocket and tosses it at Joshua.]
no subject
He pulls out two, less-than-pristine looking cigarettes, then holds out one, expression rarely altering from that half-smile. ]
no subject
It's not an apology, or compassion for a lost friend, but Spike isn't really looking for either. He'd regretting giving up the pack as soon as he did it, this is only about taking one back.]
no subject
Seems it was done for him, anyway. So he accepts the light with a more somber style of amusement, but despite his shady company, and living in the twenties, Joshua is not a smoker. The following attempt is...going to lead to coughing, though only a little. ]
no subject
Spike points away from the cabin as a subtle way of asking him to leave (asking him to follow?), before he starts heading in the same direction. This isn't a show for them to watch.]
no subject
Oh, whatever, he'll follow for now. Even if that's away from the more interesting murder site. Maybe they'll trip over the murderer, but that would be anticlimactic. ]
no subject