Not unusual, given the environment, but this audience has been standing quietly at the sidelines for the entirety of Locke's viewing. He's standing quietly, still, as he watches Locke push over the projector.
Locke's always been a bit melodramatic in expressing his frustration.
He's known for a while. Maybe from the beginning, or maybe not. But now, he stands with his back to the door, breathing calmly, and says, "Hello, Ben," without turning to look.
"Hm. Not quite was I'd been expecting," he said simply, his jaw working, rubbing absently at the scraggly growth on his chin as he looked down at the projector still whirring at his feet.
Mamet has no real idea what the fuck he's just seen, the details of it go over his head. Only the rest makes any sense, John's loneliness, his determination so strong, slowly crushed by the people in the film. His death.
He should have left. He didn't like other people seeing what happened to him, not really, not something like that. But he didn't, and he doesn't when it's over. He hasn't quite forgiven John for the timer, even if it wasn't John's fault. The hope he had, that sense of doing something important, it was difficult to lose. But now...
"That's fucked up, man," he says, his expression one of pure sympathy.
"Yes, I suppose it is," John agreed, glancing up and managing a stiff imitation of a smile. Fucked up might not have been the words he'd use, but they were as good as any.
"How are you, Mamet? It's been a while since I've seen you." He makes an attempt at friendly, and his concern is sincere enough, but there's something distant in him. It's easy to feel defeated, just like the man on-screen.
Mamet isn't sure how to act, around John. The man confuses him, like he's this...enigma or something. Sounds silly, but it's the best way he can think to explain it to himself.
"I'm...I don't know. Been better, been worse," he says, distant himself.
"Um. I have...I have one of these, too. Except I used a gun," he says, staring at the screen. And there'd been people trying to kill him, but not...not like that. Not personal.
He knows the feeling, though, that horrible sinking feeling John must have, after seeing that.
Humming in agreement, John looked down at the projector at his feet, his jaw working while he went through every anger management technique he could remember, trying to get the tension in him under control.
"I don't remember any of it. I think this might be my future."
"I don't suppose you're a machine," Kendra asked, from her position standing by the couch, making no move to save the projector from its fate. Not her affair, really.
"Sometimes that's how it works," she said, almost conversationally, leaning on the back of the couch and watching the empty screen, rather than the fallen projector. "They don't know until they die and come back. Probably works differently in your world."
Comments 24
Not unusual, given the environment, but this audience has been standing quietly at the sidelines for the entirety of Locke's viewing. He's standing quietly, still, as he watches Locke push over the projector.
Locke's always been a bit melodramatic in expressing his frustration.
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He's known for a while. Maybe from the beginning, or maybe not. But now, he stands with his back to the door, breathing calmly, and says, "Hello, Ben," without turning to look.
Who else could it possibly be?
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The veracity of it, whether it truly reflected their futures, is a subject Ben will contemplate later.
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He should have left. He didn't like other people seeing what happened to him, not really, not something like that. But he didn't, and he doesn't when it's over. He hasn't quite forgiven John for the timer, even if it wasn't John's fault. The hope he had, that sense of doing something important, it was difficult to lose. But now...
"That's fucked up, man," he says, his expression one of pure sympathy.
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"How are you, Mamet? It's been a while since I've seen you." He makes an attempt at friendly, and his concern is sincere enough, but there's something distant in him. It's easy to feel defeated, just like the man on-screen.
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"I'm...I don't know. Been better, been worse," he says, distant himself.
"Um. I have...I have one of these, too. Except I used a gun," he says, staring at the screen. And there'd been people trying to kill him, but not...not like that. Not personal.
He knows the feeling, though, that horrible sinking feeling John must have, after seeing that.
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"I don't remember any of it. I think this might be my future."
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Still, he had his doubts.
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