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11/1

[controlled]

[ it's like looking at a ghost.

those feelings come flooding back: awe, adoration, admiration, respect, belonging. hell, he forgot he was capable of this sort of warmth; it'd been entrenched in desperation for who knows how long.

when snake died, so did his faith in the world.

there are too many words pounding at the constraints of his mind, heavy like lead. he wants to apologize. he wants to hug him, be held in his embrace as though he were a child. he wants to say he'll do better next time. he wants to run away. he wants to ask him what he should've done — where he went wrong. if he went wrong. but none of these ideas actualize, and he resigns to letting them remain as feelings: as fleeting wants and nothing more.

is this heaven, he asks? or is it hell?

when he meets his gaze, his eyes are tired and vulnerable. snake's standing at his apartment door. he's so young. it's like — fuck, it's like they're back on big shell. ]

...Snake. [ is all he says. the door is slowly wedged open for him with a creak. ]

Just...sit wherever you want.

11/24

[medicative]

[time slips away like sand through a child's hand. in the darkness, she hears the beating of wings. familiar, lulling. tranquil. it feels like the mists in the moments before a match - waiting and ready.

and then she awakens with a gasp, and it's that strange city again. everything from before passes back through her mind, disoriented but leaving her standing, walking anew and trying to make sense of things.

(when she finds something that looks useful, she keeps it in her satchel.)

red flames dance and lead her to the apartments, and tired as she is - mentally, not physically - she goes. it's like a strange dream, creeping through the fading building, but that raises the question of which room she can use. by now, she's midway up the building, in a hall, and to her knowledge alone with only the creeping sense of dread and observation on her.

Emily sighs, and leans her back against the wall.]

God help me.

[the prayer is more resigned than anything else, and her voice feels so loud in this eerie quiet. hopefully no one living in these rooms actually heard.]