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La Belle et la Bête [closed]
Mar. 4th, 2014 12:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
johnny_truantJohnny wanders for hours on the 15th. It's the first time he's been out on his own since meeting Jodie -- and his first time since the Dream. He takes stock of himself, of the day, of the park. Everything seems surreal, somehow removed. This isn't working. He just feels lost.
Remember when the Ramble was little more than an oversized outdoor brothel? Johnny smirks at the thought, though he's not sure why, and hugs his hoodie tighter around himself as the wind rushes past. Maybe he should head back to the hotel. Maybe he should just give up on ever coming to terms with what's happened. He's hopeless. He's hopeless.
His footing slips and he stumbles over nothing. Goes very still. Something's wrong. Something's there.
He starts walking again, uncertainly, dragging his feet over an untraversed path. Doesn't know where he's going, just that he has to. He has to get closer.
To what?
He stops short, because then he sees it. Bright blue and incongruous, standing out of the way amidst the trees. He peers at it -- at her, though he does not yet know the pronoun -- for several silent, perplexing moments. The heading, POLICE BOX, stands out worrisomely, but it's such a relic, such an artifact from a lost time that he can't imagine it's still operational.
He moves forward, trancelike. Something's tugging him, some magnetic current. He has to get close. Has to know what it is and why he's so drawn to it.
He's within arm's reach, fingers splayed out to touch it, when the pain hits him, full-bodied, like a blow to the chest. He staggers back, gripping his head, unable to keep from expelling a strangled yell at the shock of it. The migraine is so intense, so sudden and so powerful, that he knows it cannot be a coincidence. He struggles even as his knees buckle and he collapses, to look at the edifice. She did this, somehow. It's her.
What is it? What is it?
Remember when the Ramble was little more than an oversized outdoor brothel? Johnny smirks at the thought, though he's not sure why, and hugs his hoodie tighter around himself as the wind rushes past. Maybe he should head back to the hotel. Maybe he should just give up on ever coming to terms with what's happened. He's hopeless. He's hopeless.
His footing slips and he stumbles over nothing. Goes very still. Something's wrong. Something's there.
He starts walking again, uncertainly, dragging his feet over an untraversed path. Doesn't know where he's going, just that he has to. He has to get closer.
To what?
He stops short, because then he sees it. Bright blue and incongruous, standing out of the way amidst the trees. He peers at it -- at her, though he does not yet know the pronoun -- for several silent, perplexing moments. The heading, POLICE BOX, stands out worrisomely, but it's such a relic, such an artifact from a lost time that he can't imagine it's still operational.
He moves forward, trancelike. Something's tugging him, some magnetic current. He has to get close. Has to know what it is and why he's so drawn to it.
He's within arm's reach, fingers splayed out to touch it, when the pain hits him, full-bodied, like a blow to the chest. He staggers back, gripping his head, unable to keep from expelling a strangled yell at the shock of it. The migraine is so intense, so sudden and so powerful, that he knows it cannot be a coincidence. He struggles even as his knees buckle and he collapses, to look at the edifice. She did this, somehow. It's her.
What is it? What is it?
