(no subject)
Once in a while, it seemed like, the jukebox liked to make jokes at Sarah's expense. She'd heard it all, or thought she had anyway, in her brief stay thus far on the island: every James Bond theme song known to man, "Secret Agent Man," that Cake song about a girl with a mind like a diamond, anything that even remotely touched on espionage, metaphorical or literal. If it hadn't verged on potentially problematic, it would have been amusing, actually. Well, the first couple times, anyway. In a place like this, though, where the residents took it for granted that there was something sentient - and not only that, apparently, but psychic - running the show, it was troubling at best.
Something was mocking her. And yes, she'd suspected from the start that, if she was here, it was because someone, somewhere, was pulling the strings and knew just who - and what - she was. To have it broadcast over the speaker and scream from every title on the bookshelf, though, was pushing it. So far, no one had made any demands known to her or Casey, and while she was sure that they were far from being the only people on the island with something to hide, it bothered her that she still didn't know why they were there. Still, she'd at least been able to protect Chuck and keep doing her job, and so long as she managed that and stayed alert, she could deal with it. For now, anyway. To do her job, though, she needed to maintain her cover, and every should-be-inanimate object in this place seemed intent on giving her away.
She'd come inside to the rec room because it was where people gathered, and that was usually a good start. Besides, even she seemed to have some free time in this place, and there was always the off-chance that, this time, the bookshelf would give her something actually worth reading. These days, mixed in with the spy novels and biographies of political figures were a vast collection of trashy romances, something that disturbed Sarah on a number of levels. She'd joked about it once to Ellie, rather than admitting to what the thing actually gave her, and if anyone asked, she would have laughed and said she was being punished. Really, though, it just looked like she was being watched.
Christmas carols had given over to something with a strong beat as she looked through the books on the shelf, and she didn't pay any attention until the chorus caught her attention:
They call me hell, they call me Stacey
They call me her, they call me Jane
That's not my name, that's not my name
That's not my name, that's not my name
They call me quiet girl but I'm a riot
Mary, Jo, Lisa - always the same
That's not my name
Arching a brow at the machine, Sarah half-smiled. "Funny," she murmured dryly, trying to suppress the part of her that thought destroying the machine would be the simplest solution.
Something was mocking her. And yes, she'd suspected from the start that, if she was here, it was because someone, somewhere, was pulling the strings and knew just who - and what - she was. To have it broadcast over the speaker and scream from every title on the bookshelf, though, was pushing it. So far, no one had made any demands known to her or Casey, and while she was sure that they were far from being the only people on the island with something to hide, it bothered her that she still didn't know why they were there. Still, she'd at least been able to protect Chuck and keep doing her job, and so long as she managed that and stayed alert, she could deal with it. For now, anyway. To do her job, though, she needed to maintain her cover, and every should-be-inanimate object in this place seemed intent on giving her away.
She'd come inside to the rec room because it was where people gathered, and that was usually a good start. Besides, even she seemed to have some free time in this place, and there was always the off-chance that, this time, the bookshelf would give her something actually worth reading. These days, mixed in with the spy novels and biographies of political figures were a vast collection of trashy romances, something that disturbed Sarah on a number of levels. She'd joked about it once to Ellie, rather than admitting to what the thing actually gave her, and if anyone asked, she would have laughed and said she was being punished. Really, though, it just looked like she was being watched.
Christmas carols had given over to something with a strong beat as she looked through the books on the shelf, and she didn't pay any attention until the chorus caught her attention:
They call me hell, they call me Stacey
They call me her, they call me Jane
That's not my name, that's not my name
That's not my name, that's not my name
They call me quiet girl but I'm a riot
Mary, Jo, Lisa - always the same
That's not my name
Arching a brow at the machine, Sarah half-smiled. "Funny," she murmured dryly, trying to suppress the part of her that thought destroying the machine would be the simplest solution.