1929 -- Arizona
It's March in Flagstaff when he concedes to company for the fifth time.
The town still wears its first dress sloppily, like a woman who hasn't realized the strap of her dress has fallen and is still carrying on before the world. He can point easily to how, even if it is the largest one between Albuquerque and the rest of the West, it is still the railroad city grown softer and larger. The changeover to have a focus on the Lowell Observatory is not so far behind them that the strain, or the benefit of the medication, is invisible either.
He's been there almost a week, with the intention of leaving in minutes, when they stumble into his thoughts.
Edward's never regretted its ability to keep him informed, even when it is deafening. Even deafening fades into normalcy after years though. It's like standing in a pouring storm. You begin to see through the rain. He lives through the quagmire of them, almost outside of himself to be around them. It keeps him away of so many things. More than he's bargained for, too, he's realizing lately.
Faces are beginning to stick with him after each encounter.
Even more they are beginning to cloy into each encounter more strongly.
The whisper of pleaded thoughts and the roar of monsters mouth's mingled hand in hand.
He misses nothing, buried into them in ways both physical and metaphysical, feelings it as their last thought dwindles beyond consciousness before drawing off the last heart beat. He has no compunction toward understanding what the notion of feeling sick is like but he thinks it is covered in a lifetime of someone else’s memories passing, disorienting, before his eyes.
Creating a funnel of self, even selves so cacophonically backward and morally rejecting. Still a self, even mired in black and choice and delight, shoving it's claws into his mind, where it lingered for days afterward. He's in the middle of another of these instances, when he hears them.
He discards the body in favor listening to their quicksilver thoughts.
Edward follows their actions and antics through the city for half the day.
They are caustic, violent and volatile. It is in how they hunt, kill, steal, destroy, fuck.
He approves of very little in any of their minds, and yet he is drawn to them regardless.
The town still wears its first dress sloppily, like a woman who hasn't realized the strap of her dress has fallen and is still carrying on before the world. He can point easily to how, even if it is the largest one between Albuquerque and the rest of the West, it is still the railroad city grown softer and larger. The changeover to have a focus on the Lowell Observatory is not so far behind them that the strain, or the benefit of the medication, is invisible either.
He's been there almost a week, with the intention of leaving in minutes, when they stumble into his thoughts.
Edward's never regretted its ability to keep him informed, even when it is deafening. Even deafening fades into normalcy after years though. It's like standing in a pouring storm. You begin to see through the rain. He lives through the quagmire of them, almost outside of himself to be around them. It keeps him away of so many things. More than he's bargained for, too, he's realizing lately.
Faces are beginning to stick with him after each encounter.
Even more they are beginning to cloy into each encounter more strongly.
The whisper of pleaded thoughts and the roar of monsters mouth's mingled hand in hand.
He misses nothing, buried into them in ways both physical and metaphysical, feelings it as their last thought dwindles beyond consciousness before drawing off the last heart beat. He has no compunction toward understanding what the notion of feeling sick is like but he thinks it is covered in a lifetime of someone else’s memories passing, disorienting, before his eyes.
Creating a funnel of self, even selves so cacophonically backward and morally rejecting. Still a self, even mired in black and choice and delight, shoving it's claws into his mind, where it lingered for days afterward. He's in the middle of another of these instances, when he hears them.
He discards the body in favor listening to their quicksilver thoughts.
Edward follows their actions and antics through the city for half the day.
They are caustic, violent and volatile. It is in how they hunt, kill, steal, destroy, fuck.
He approves of very little in any of their minds, and yet he is drawn to them regardless.