Night 52: Stairwell by Waiting Room/Lobby 2

[mugenreppa]

[from here]

"I have a pen," she added as she ascended the stairs. She was already using her journal to keep track of the days, why not stick a map in the same place? Unless they didn't let her carry the journal around tomorrow, but if so, that didn't make any sense (why give her a journal? Why let her carry a pen?), and she was going to tell the

Comments

[scarefaux]

[Sorry for the wait!]

With a cautious look around them, the Scarecrow followed Mele's directions, moving behind (and a little to the side of) her, yet again getting that vague sense of being protected as though he was somehow more fragile than any other flesh-and-blood man. How strange it was now to think he'd have been the one doing the leading only weeks before! Of course, having been made of straw and easily put back together if torn apart, he would have been the natural choice to make sure the hallways were safe for his friends.

He was sure Mele and Depth Charge and Abe all had their reasoning for their caution with him, but he couldn't figure out what it was for the life of him. Knowing how things were, he decided he'd attribute both said caution and his inability to discern their exact reasons to his lack of working brains: it probably wasn't best to let someone like him take the lead, anyway.

[To here.]

[vsyourface]

[From here]

"Why, did you see one?" Scott asked as they entered the stairwell. Maybe Scott didn't want to talk about his experience, but if Senna had brought up the shadow incident, then maybe she did. If she did, then he was okay with listening to her. Somehow it was a lot easier to listen to and offer unhelpful advice about other people's problems than to spill about his own, at least when it came to the really big stuff.

[windstwilight]

That... had been a quick negative. Huh. Suspicion aside, even the rumor of other people seeing it was good enough--enough at least that she could chalk up some of the stuff Nigredo's shadow had said to be BS. But the kid had been really affected by some of it. She couldn't dismiss everything, be it her business or not. For a twelve-year-old, Nigredo had a lot of skeletons he was hiding. Which, hey, it was fine, she wasn't one to talk. But he did need a friend. She knew that just as well. That without someone to unload on, a meltdown was pretty likely.

She traipsed up the stairs after Scott, thinking. How likely was it that a kid killed his own father? Though, fuck. How likely was it that he owned a gun, and he still had one. And while she was at it, how likely was it that a person was really just a conglomerate of other people's memories? Hell. She had better stop while she was ahead.

[to here]