agrat: (something that we'd die for.)
ᴠᴏʟᴄᴀɴᴏ ɢɪʀʟ. ([personal profile] agrat) wrote in [community profile] multiversallogs 2012-04-22 02:12 am (UTC)

It takes her a moment to follow. First she ventures a little closer to that awful glass basin. Wolfgang is downstairs, back turned to her, and she swears, she swears she sees the body twitch--

No, she's imagining it. (She never just is 'imagining' it.)

Lea closes her eyes for a second, reminding herself of a few things:

She is not in New York.

The Pale Man is not here.

His beasts are not here. Her eyes are not silver with his power. She's far away.

No matter what this is, it's not him, and after him, she can handle anything, or this is what she has been telling herself since her arrival. The bar has been set. Lea turns on her heel and heads down the stairs, just in time to see Wolfgang go reeling. This hastens her pace, brow furrowed in concern.

"Okay," she says, her accent shaping the word strangely, "you know what, fuck this house. Come with me, we're going to sit on the steps outside for a minute."

Then they'll discuss this mysterious clock and its origins.

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