Eileen is the last person who'd begrudge anyone their decision to appear blissfully casual in the face of an event with the potential to be soul-crushing. And she decides not to raise the point that, if the law of averages holds, he'll probably get his wish. Like others before him, he probably will be a little bit crazy even if they get back no worse for the wear than they are in this moment. She shoots him a conflicted look from behind a straggly fall of hair, and then is back to her strained hope. "No. It's not. But if it makes you feel any better, you've probably got a leg up on the rest of us. Analyzing and all-"
A movement, a faint rippling up along the wall like a thin trail of water stops her and immediately brings the barrel of a gun up to bear on what looks, come to think of it, more like old stretched leather than like wallpaper at this point. She stops, waits, and it doesn't reappear but she doesn't trust that it won't sprout long arms at a moment's notice. She inches carefully by, keeping aim until both of them have bypassed the spot.
She's uneasy after that. More uneasy when more and more forks and splits start intercepting their straight path. Even more uneasy when she notices the floor shifting from battered wooden boards to grimy black-and-white checkered tile. And her capacity for relatively normal conversation is seriously impaired after she sees a severed human hand in a pile of trash heaped in a corner up ahead. The watch still wrapped around its wrist ticks backwards, she notices once she gets her churning stomach under control enough to take a closer look. Broad, square fingers and roughened knuckles, a man. Scenery, scenery, it's scenery! she shouts to herself. Don't even think about it. But she does think about it, and her throat tightens to cut off any more attempts at ribbing Dr. Abernathy about his publication history. "We're going the right way," she whispers, pushing resolutely forward and away from the pile of refuse. "I think so." The sound in the wall sounds like nothing more than the ordinary hum of electricity and water running to any ordinary room, even though she starts finding blood trails smeared along the floor.
Troy laughs, a bitter and small sort of bark in this atmosphere. "If this is the right way, I'd hate to see the wrong way." He eyes the hand with a queasy disgust and does his best to keep walking. He finds this place more familiar than he should, he imagines, and he wonders if its got something to do with it reacting to him, like she said. "I guess thinking happy thoughts is working out better than I'd expected," he adds, less sarcastically.
Then he notices Eileen, and how she's looking at the blood. His expression softens, and he touches a finger to her shoulder. "Hey, I thought you were a veteran with this sort of thing," he admonishes gently. "Don't worry too much- it's like you said. Think positive. I haven't seen a single monster since I found you, so I-"
He cuts himself off when he hears a screech of metal down the hall, beyond a T junction. He sighs and lets his hand drop from Eileen's shoulder, sighing. "Well, so much for that. I think we're going to have to run." He's seen those damn spider-things before, he sure as hell isn't going to try and fight one.
A movement, a faint rippling up along the wall like a thin trail of water stops her and immediately brings the barrel of a gun up to bear on what looks, come to think of it, more like old stretched leather than like wallpaper at this point. She stops, waits, and it doesn't reappear but she doesn't trust that it won't sprout long arms at a moment's notice. She inches carefully by, keeping aim until both of them have bypassed the spot.
She's uneasy after that. More uneasy when more and more forks and splits start intercepting their straight path. Even more uneasy when she notices the floor shifting from battered wooden boards to grimy black-and-white checkered tile. And her capacity for relatively normal conversation is seriously impaired after she sees a severed human hand in a pile of trash heaped in a corner up ahead. The watch still wrapped around its wrist ticks backwards, she notices once she gets her churning stomach under control enough to take a closer look. Broad, square fingers and roughened knuckles, a man. Scenery, scenery, it's scenery! she shouts to herself. Don't even think about it. But she does think about it, and her throat tightens to cut off any more attempts at ribbing Dr. Abernathy about his publication history. "We're going the right way," she whispers, pushing resolutely forward and away from the pile of refuse. "I think so." The sound in the wall sounds like nothing more than the ordinary hum of electricity and water running to any ordinary room, even though she starts finding blood trails smeared along the floor.
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Then he notices Eileen, and how she's looking at the blood. His expression softens, and he touches a finger to her shoulder. "Hey, I thought you were a veteran with this sort of thing," he admonishes gently. "Don't worry too much- it's like you said. Think positive. I haven't seen a single monster since I found you, so I-"
He cuts himself off when he hears a screech of metal down the hall, beyond a T junction. He sighs and lets his hand drop from Eileen's shoulder, sighing. "Well, so much for that. I think we're going to have to run." He's seen those damn spider-things before, he sure as hell isn't going to try and fight one.
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