Though we have sparred, wrestled and raged, I can tell you I love him each day
Someone's been avoiding the Conrad a little since her last journal entry. Just now, Ruvin's standing outside of a pet store. There are ferrets in one of the windows, piled on top of each other and fast asleep. The people on the street are starting to give her funny looks, but she still can't stop crying.
Cy found a pile of clothes out on the pier that smell distinctly like one Julian "Jujubeans" Sark. She is currently stopping traffic by dragging them across the middle of 41 and onto East Wacker Drive. Most people aren't even bothering to honk. Because really. What?
Murphy spent the morning prowling through Chicago, running down a list of locations that should exist but don't. The landmarks are all the same. Even some of the little things. That's probably why each variation, each noticeable aberration, makes her feel like she's missed a step on her way up a familiar staircase. She's now in a corner of The Coffee Shop, leaning back in one of the armchairs with her eyes closed. It's easier to pretend that it's just another day in Chicago if she just listens to the clank and clatter of people getting drinks and going about their day. Her gun is in a shoulder holster under her borrowed hoodie. Fidelacchius is sheathed and hidden in an easel case, leaning against her thigh. The top is unzipped so she can get to the weapon inside quickly, if need be.
Cy found a pile of clothes out on the pier that smell distinctly like one Julian "Jujubeans" Sark. She is currently stopping traffic by dragging them across the middle of 41 and onto East Wacker Drive. Most people aren't even bothering to honk. Because really. What?
Murphy spent the morning prowling through Chicago, running down a list of locations that should exist but don't. The landmarks are all the same. Even some of the little things. That's probably why each variation, each noticeable aberration, makes her feel like she's missed a step on her way up a familiar staircase. She's now in a corner of The Coffee Shop, leaning back in one of the armchairs with her eyes closed. It's easier to pretend that it's just another day in Chicago if she just listens to the clank and clatter of people getting drinks and going about their day. Her gun is in a shoulder holster under her borrowed hoodie. Fidelacchius is sheathed and hidden in an easel case, leaning against her thigh. The top is unzipped so she can get to the weapon inside quickly, if need be.