Fourth Tide Turning ☠ Written | Video
[Jack has been spending a great deal of time at House Seven, looking after Buffy. There are occasions though when he manages to slip off to Cullen House; he has to keep an eye on the place, after all, and is slowly but surely stocking up on necessary non-perishable supplies for the winter that he and Katie McCoy can share. Firewood. So many things have to be organized. Now that Jilly has come home to them, he has even more worries on his mind. He has to keep her safe, protect her, take care of her---but Cullen House and the Joanna demand attention, too, and Jack has also been concerned about Katie. She's been so very quiet lately--no sounds of gleeful stomping up in her attic.
Today was meant to be a quick trip back to the seaside to check that things are secure and the boat is safe, and all seems well. It's when Sparrow makes his way up to the attic and opens the door that a distinct feeling of this place is no longer occupied washes over him. It has that stale unopened smell of a room that has lain quiet for days, but more than that, it has the feel of a place abandoned. Colorful chalk drawings cover the walls: Jack sees himself rendered there, alongside a little girl with a pirate hat on her head. Other familiar faces adorn the whitewashed attic in a rainbow of chalk and whimsy. Ships and cats and stars and darker, ghoulish things: the same mixture of macabre and magic and curiosity and oddity that Katie, herself, was. A whiff of blood and mud and fancy and childish wisdom, all in one breath.
He has to stand there for a good ten minutes and let the loneliness of the room and the sadness of fulfilled promises and discharged debts wash over him. His cabin girl is gone. Cullen House is empty again.
Some time later---before the moon begins turning its ugly face---a written message, accompanied by a video of the chalk drawings of friends and enemies of Katie McCoy, is transmitted over the journals.
Unless you are familiar with the pirate's tidy, soldierly handwriting, you probably will not know that this is a message from Captain Jack Sparrow.
If you were friends with Katie or knew her well, you will probably see yourself drawn in chalk on this video.]
[Written]
Dear Residents of Luceti,
Katie McCoy has been sent back to that mystical place from whence she erupted. She has left this mural behind, not for you all, but for herself: a reminder that she was here and that you meant something to her.
Cordially,
(Un)concerned Parties
[/Written]
Today was meant to be a quick trip back to the seaside to check that things are secure and the boat is safe, and all seems well. It's when Sparrow makes his way up to the attic and opens the door that a distinct feeling of this place is no longer occupied washes over him. It has that stale unopened smell of a room that has lain quiet for days, but more than that, it has the feel of a place abandoned. Colorful chalk drawings cover the walls: Jack sees himself rendered there, alongside a little girl with a pirate hat on her head. Other familiar faces adorn the whitewashed attic in a rainbow of chalk and whimsy. Ships and cats and stars and darker, ghoulish things: the same mixture of macabre and magic and curiosity and oddity that Katie, herself, was. A whiff of blood and mud and fancy and childish wisdom, all in one breath.
He has to stand there for a good ten minutes and let the loneliness of the room and the sadness of fulfilled promises and discharged debts wash over him. His cabin girl is gone. Cullen House is empty again.
Some time later---before the moon begins turning its ugly face---a written message, accompanied by a video of the chalk drawings of friends and enemies of Katie McCoy, is transmitted over the journals.
Unless you are familiar with the pirate's tidy, soldierly handwriting, you probably will not know that this is a message from Captain Jack Sparrow.
If you were friends with Katie or knew her well, you will probably see yourself drawn in chalk on this video.]
[Written]
Dear Residents of Luceti,
Katie McCoy has been sent back to that mystical place from whence she erupted. She has left this mural behind, not for you all, but for herself: a reminder that she was here and that you meant something to her.
Cordially,
(Un)concerned Parties
[/Written]