Tuesday, 29 November 2011
-Spencer- It’s all okay
Shut up, June.
You can't fucking tell me otherwise. You're dead.
Joel is dead.
Lucas is dead.
You don't have any fucking right to tell me anything.
… So we’re still alive, because what else can we do? The couriers have three years worth of always aiding, always abetting, never fucking interfering. Because we’d watch you all, always removed. We know we can’t afford to fall when the bodies start dropping.
(I know you can’t afford for me to lose it)
You all need us.
(I know you can’t afford for me to get attached)
So we’ll keep on going.
Considering how The House is a thinly veiled eldritch horror itself, it’s a little strange for me to realize we’re kind of a last refuge for those of you who have nowhere else to go. Elaine and crew have set up shop for a little while, and I’m glad I can at least give them a safe place to lay low.
(Until the branches started moving in, when we’d all wake up in the morning and the forests that always flanked the edges of the territory we could see would move closer and closer, until they started breaking windows and trying to fix it hurts it hurtsithurtsithurts)
I’m guessing it’s because of the forest kids; even if one of them isn’t here, the Loop they were in just… really did a number on them. The Loops get into your head, draw form from your thoughts, trap you in a maze because your brain just fuels the fire. There’s no way out at that point without help.
(… I should know)
But at this point, it’s as much a part of them as they are of it. That sort of thing follows you like a bad cold. So I’m over here, up to my neck in black leaves, trying to figure out how to make The House stop screaming at me like I’m late on handing in a report. My nose is a goddamn faucet, but I’m making progress. Sort of. I’m not sure if it’ll go back to normal after they leave, but that’s something to worry about later.
(I’ll avoid what I want to for as long as I want fuck off don’t tell me what to do)
… this sums it up better than I could ever hope to. Lori was off like a fucking bullet. using her shirt as a tourniquet and carrying Elaine down to the infirmary with strength I didn’t know she had. It’s… Elaine’ll live. She’ll live because we can’t do much of anything else. I…
What else can I do?
I know a few things. I’ll catch up to that fucking snake one day, and paid someone who’s known as a good source of information a little bit of a… visit. Shame he’s on assignment. Would’ve liked to see his lease on what went on, even if we didn’t get anything of consequence from it.
(Every time he screamed I felt a little better)
… Shit. TL;DR is that I’m working my ass off at fixing The House and shit’s gone to hell but we’ll get better.
This’ll get better. It always does.
Posted by Spencer at 11:35