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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 11, 2010 22:32:20 GMT -8
Charlotte was finally starting to relax. It probably helped that they had used some sort of topical numbing agent thing that helped ease the surface pain. There was a hell of a lot more pain underneath that, of course, but the lessening of something was better than nothing at all. They hadn’t given her regular pain killers; apparently that was a bad idea with a concussion. Lying there, holding David’s hand... that weird warm feeling in her chest was back... I’ll figure it out later.
“You could have,” she replied with a grin. “Left me with Polly and her tea.” She really owed Polly a lot. I wonder how I can thank her.
His apology caught her off guard. What could he be sorry for? Yes, he told her partially... but his behaviour at breakfast hadn’t bothered her that much. You can take the man out of the FBI, but you can’t take the FBI out of the man. It was a part of him, who he was. And she liked who he was. So, why was he apologising...
Then he held her hand in both of his, looked her in the eyes and continued talking... and she realized he thought she hadn’t told him because she didn’t trust him with her story. Oh David...
“It’s not that I don’t trust you. I do... more than I probably trust anyone. It’s just...” Charlotte trailed off, trying to find the right words. “I... You won’t believe me.” Her voice was small on that last, full of sadness and resignation. “I don’t think anyone would.”
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Post by David Young Henning on Dec 11, 2010 23:58:24 GMT -8
[Sorry for the massive infodump, didn't see any reason to break it into chunks and he might as well get it all out in one go anyway since nobody's heard it before (including me XD). Assume that Charlotte hears everything being described in the italics flashback.]
She looked so sad on that final beat, so much more lost than he'd remembered seeing her even after her mother's death, that it nearly took his breath away. He'd been wrong to think her injuries had been merely physical, or that the worst thing that could have happened to her was massive head trauma... He got out of his chair and sat down again on the side of the bed, facing her, still holding her hands tightly between his.
"I... Maybe I wouldn't have believed you, when we first met... It hadn't happened to me, then. Before today, I didn't want to admit that it could have happened, not the way I remembered it... It was stupid, just the gas, they said. And I wanted to believe them, so I did... But look. Maybe this will convince you that whatever you tell me... There's no way I could disbelieve you. Even though a part of me really wishes that wasn't the case."
Henning leans closer, just as his mind goes further away, remembering. "Imagine I'm in Boston, waiting for the subway to arrive, okay, Charlotte? It's about three months after you last saw me, and
there's hardly anyone else on the platform, save a few patient/bored bystanders and a busker packing up his guitar, lack of an easily enthralled audience driving him elsewhere. Henning is thinking about... something, it's not important. There's a white gap where, the doctors told him, memory fell through the cracks... Not a lot of it, but enough that certain details get fuzzy when he tries to remember them, even now. Nothing important, just enough to spoil the picture he's trying to paint here... Anyway.
Here comes the train. He and the others get on, and it's a little more crowded than he'd thought it would be, given how sparse the platform was... He notices this because someone has exceptionally bad B.O., and as the train starts to move, he notices the other passengers all catching on at the same time. Who forgot their cologne today? Yikes! Their faces wrinkle in disgust, and Henning closes himself off from them, going into hyperfocused mode.
The train picks up speed and they are rushing through a long, dark tunnel, moving fast under the city lights. Now he remembers what he was thinking about: The RSPs. Red Seed Profiles. They closed the last one three months ago: Vanessa Jacobs, coughed-up blood forming a three-toed crow's foot from her mouth across her shiny oak desk... And there was something important he'd just remembered about the case, a connection, something that might be grounds to re-open it... And if they re-opened it, would he see her again? Would renewed hope light up those blue eyes that he'd left so hollow and dark, telling her that he could help her sell her house, but not to find her mother's killer? Hope...
The stench is getting stronger, unavoidable now. It's too powerful to be coming from one human being. The woman beside him drops her purse on his foot, bends over, gagging... Soon everyone is doing it, this strange dance, hands scrabbling at throats, eyes bulging... The air seems thick somehow, the color of dusk creeping up from their ankles, and Henning grabs onto a pole to stop himself sliding to the floor like the passengers around him, wilting like flowers in a superspeed winter... Then the gas reaches him just as he's forced to take a breath or pass out, and he sees it
a giant sawblade
rising out of purple mist
rust marks its circumference like the numbers on the face of a razor-edged clock
Why does it feel like a memory when it's happening to him NOW? But it's not, it already happened, the sawblade can tell time and it's telling him right NOW is the only reality that WAS, the fog up to his waist, freezing and burning simultaneously, immobilizing him... Jagged pieces of metal surround him, ochre-stained, like ancient monuments from an alien civilization... He touches one of them and it pierces his palm, except instead of blood, a flood of metal shavings comes out, and nothing he does can stop them from leaving his body until a deer without a head comes and tells him "iT wIlll Sshhtop WhEn yOu GivE iT uP" and hands him one of the rust-covered pieces of metal that has his name stamped on it-
What he does with the piece of metal he never finds out, because- so the doctors told him- that's probably when the treatment finally kicks in, and the cycle of dreams finally stops. The sawblade slows, halts its neverending circular descent, and David Young Henning lies awake staring at the ceiling of a Massachusetts hospital room, nearly eight months gone on a single rotation of that awful, serrated timepiece. Knowing, despite what everyone was telling him, that what he'd seen in that fog hadn't been a chemically-induced hallucination, but an indication of something that either already happened, or was going to happen... Something very real, very tangible, and very, very personal indeed. But eventually, after a solid month of the Bureau insisting it was a terrorist attack, he'd fallen under the spell of wanting to believe it was true...
And that clue, that missing link, whatever it was that he'd remembered about the murder of Vanessa Jacobs? Just another little white gap where something used to be, but isn't any more. Sometimes, they told him, memory slips through the cracks. Nothing to be done, except hope it comes back on its own, someday.
Hope...
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 12, 2010 1:12:03 GMT -8
The moment on the bed, when David tells her all that happened to him after she last saw him, seems to linger, almost stopping time in its tracks.
Charlotte listened intently, with every fibre of her being to his story. Eyes growing wider, she didn’t move when he finished. She couldn’t, not when he had trusted her with something so... important. Then, just when it seemed like she wasn’t going to move at ALL... she pulled her hands free of his and flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight, almost full-body hug. I’m so sorry I didn’t know, she thought, So very, very sorry. I would have been there if I’d known. She didn’t realise that she was murmuring those very same words aloud.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, she pulls back a little. My turn.
“I was at the lumbermill,” she begins, “and it was a perfectly normal lumbermill at first. Not creepy at all. A little strange, but not creepy. I could hear the rain pounding on the roof,” she’s rambling a little now, and having a hard time not being overwhelmed with the memories, but she soldiers on.
“I was taking photos. Abandoned buildings are fascinating...” Charlotte trails off, unconsciously pulling away from him more and curling in on herself, wrapping bare arms around her middle. “Anyway... I just sort of... wandered, taking photos. Until I found this room. This... stupid little alcove with a row of mirrors in it.” She takes another breath, and it’s almost like she can smell the cigarettes again. She squeezes her eyes closed for a long moment, before opening them again and focusing on David’s face. “Thought it was a weird room for a lumbermill to have, but it made for an interesting photo, so I took a few.” Photos, she means to say then, but she stops because the smell of cigarettes is there again, filling her lungs. A chill runs down her spine, and she continues.
“Smoke... started drifting around the corner of the alcove, and it... started to smell sort of like cigarettes. I could... hear someone breathing. Chuckling.”
Breathe, Charlie. She realises that she’s NOT, and takes a gasping breath.
“Something... someone darted past the room. And a cigarette butt, still glowing... rolled to a stop on the ground. It was really there... Even after I spun around. I... ducked out into the hall and there was a trail of smoke leading around the next corner. I continued on... I don’t know WHY I continued on.” She’s panicking a little now, and fumbles for David’s hand again, awkwardly intertwining her bandaged fingers with his. He’s real and here with her, and she focuses on that.
“There was... some sort of dust on the ground. There were footprints - gaps that looked like footprints. I... took photos of it; I thought to document things. That... was pretty much the last time I was calm enough to actually try. I kept moving. The lumbermill has a locker room, did you know that? I started opening lockers... and I found this tin of smoked salmon. It was just sitting in one of the lockers. It was still in my hand when I went over to the desk.”
The desk. Her stomach turns a little, and she swallows back the feeling of nausea before continuing.
“There was this... rabbit, on the desk. It’d been...partially skinned, and its intestines were strewn out on the surface... The eyes... the eyes were missing. They’d been stuffed under the still smoking cigarette in the ash tray. I heard someone chuckle behind me... I just... threw the tin of smoked salmon at the direction it was coming from and ran.”
Her hands are shaking, and she feels a little like she’s falling to pieces. But she’s telling him, she has to tell him. So... onward she goes.
“I didn’t pay much attention to where I was going. I just wanted to get away from the rabbit and whoever it was that had been chuckling. I ended up on a metal walkway in a very large room. I ran for the stairs... and I fell. Down them. Ended up hitting the concrete at the bottom. I got to my hands and knees... And then the Smoking Man showed up again. And he brought friends. They were these... things. Sort of... zombies with Glasgow smiles.”
Another deep breath. She’s almost done. She's staring at their intertwined hands now.
“He... TORE one of their heads off... and told me ‘there are other places you should be’.” Her entire body is shaking now. “When I looked up, he was gone, and there were more Glasgow smiles and moaning... And I hurt so badly but I had to keep moving. I got to my feet... and grabbed for something, anything to defend myself. There was a pipe... I grabbed it and swung. They bled purple... I ran. All I wanted was to get back out into the rain.”
“But I had to keep fighting them. One surprised me in a small room... stuck his arm down my throat. I couldn’t get it out, I was gagging and choking and fighting.” She can taste it again, on her tongue and at the back of her throat, and it won’t go away. She wants to cough, to gag, to try and scrape the horrible tastes off her tongue but she can’t.
“I just kept going. Fighting them when I had to, but just running for where I hoped was another exit. I was dizzy, but I couldn’t stop. I found a freight elevator, and I hate elevators, but I wasn’t going back. I couldn’t. So I ran for it, hoping that it still worked, that I could get onto it without getting grabbed by anything. I couldn’t think straight, couldn’t stop being so terrified.”
She feels it again... the same bone deep terror that filled her at the lumbermill. She wants to cry, wants to curl up against David and just not move. But she forces herself to finish.
“When I got outside... I flung myself back out into the rain. Fell again. All I wanted to do was just LAY there. I was so exhausted... but I forced my way back to my feet. I... somehow made it back to my car. I don’t really remember the drive back to the hotel. That's where Willie and Polly found me. Where you found me.”
Finished. Almost... Charlotte blinked down at their hands. She was almost afraid to look David in the eyes again. But she did, partially obscured behind a curtain of red hair. But there was one last thing she needed to tell him.
"In your car, earlier. When you were having trouble with the brakes. There was something jammed underneath, that's why you couldn't stop the car. It... It was a tin of smoked salmon. With a dent on one side, with what I think was blood on it."
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Post by Atlas on Dec 12, 2010 5:03:09 GMT -8
Emily had tried to stand up for Atlas, but the cowboy seemed immovable. Atlas could only watch. He could hardly understand what was going on, and none of what that cowboy was yelling at him made any sense. He could, however, make out Emily feeling defeated. "I know, Emily...this guy is psycho..."
He wasn't prepared for what happened next. Before he knew it, the cowboy smacked him. It shocked him more than it hurt him, but still wasn't the most pleasant thing he been though. "Yup...real psycho."
Before he knew it, however, the cowboy had stopped yelling at him. It seemed to him that it happened right after he smacked him. He was still a bit confused, but relieved. He had enough yelling for one night and it was doing nothing to help him heal.
The cowboy had also left the room as well, allowing Emily to be with him without his interference. She seemed to apologize for the man's behavior, and dropped his name as well. "So that guy's name is George. I'll be sure to watch out for that man when I get out of here."
"It's alright, Emily, I'm sure all of us have had it rough tonight in one way or another." he replied. He sounded a bit more clear, but was still a little woozy and tired. "Besides, compared to the gunshot, the slap felt like nothing."
"By the way, thanks for being here for me." he added. "It...means a lot to me. If there is anything I can do to help you guys, let me know..."
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Post by Emily Wyatt on Dec 12, 2010 9:50:40 GMT -8
Emily smiled Atlas seemed to be taking being man handled by George like a champ. Probably a good thing he's so doped up on meds, she thought.
"As for being here for you don't sweat it, don't forget my occupation requires me to protect and serve!" She winked.
Emily's good mood turned somber so a moment, "The best thing you can do to us is to get better. We've had a hectic night tonight with little making sense and few leads. From the sound of things the recent murder isn't the only thing Greenvale has to worry about..."
She frowned remembering the state Charlotte and David were in. Definitely a lot more to worry about
She met Atlas' eyes again, "Sheriff Woodman...George, well with all that's happening these past few days the stress of it all must be really getting to him. We aren't used to all this excitement as I'm sure you know!"
With a pleading look she continued, "Believe me, George is a good and decent man who only wants what's best for the town. He may yell and glare a lot but deep down he a big ol' teddy bear!" Emily had to smile that was the perfect description of George, a teddy bear! Speaking of which, this gave her the idea for the most adorable Christmas present ever...a Sheriff Teddy Bear! She just needed a leather jacket, a tin star, and a black cowboy hat! It would go perfectly on George's desk, he needed something a little less "Gaston's hunting lodge" decor in there! While she mentally pieced together her Christmas present for George Emily continued her plea to Atlas, "I hope you won't hold his bizarre behavior against him. We all have our bad days..."
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Post by Atlas on Dec 12, 2010 11:42:36 GMT -8
Ever since the slap, Atlas's mind had slowly been piecing itself back together. "I wonder if the man was literally trying to smack some sense into me. Terrible pun, I know." he thought.
He was glad to see her smile, but noted that she turned somber when talking about what had happened. "I'll try to get better, Emily. The doctors say if everything goes well, I should be on my feet by tomorrow. I'll probably have to wrap up my arm for a bit, but there are more foolish things to look at in the courtroom than a lawyer in a sling. I once knew a man who would wear pink bunny ears into court..."
He blink out for a second after starting that story, but came back into focus. "Sorry. Guess the meds aren't fully worn off." he said.
The next thing he knew, Emily was pleading with him. She was trying to convince him that George wasn't as bad as he looked and despite his rough exterior, was a softie deep down. He also chuckled at the teddy bear idea. "I'm sure something like that would be popular with the kids of Greenvale." he laughed.
He also thought a bit about what she said. "Interesting. Their dynamic seems like that of a mother and father to the police. He's the strict and stoic team father who remain emotionally distant, while she is the kind and caring mother. Maybe the age gap makes it not a perfect comparison, but I can't think of anything better." he thought.
"He didn't exactly make the best first impression. Then again, I believe that everyone deserves a second chance. I'll give him another chance." he finally replied. "Hopefully, he'll be in a better mood later."
The pain was starting to come back though, hitting his shoulder like a ton of bricks. "Auugh." he grunted, trying not to move his shoulder. "I guess they gave me that stuff for a reason. Doesn't hurt as much, but still very painful." he added.
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Post by David Young Henning on Dec 12, 2010 12:04:19 GMT -8
She didn't say anything right away, after he told her... He supposed there wasn't anything to say. But the strength with which she suddenly held him in her embrace, her barely audible apologies, one after another, steadier than the rainfall... Before he could react, she was telling him everything. As he listened, the analytical part of him was circling like a buzzard, ready to swoop down on anything that sounded inconsistent or suspicious- the fact that she had seen the zombies only after falling down a flight of stairs was something that would jump out immediately, if she were to tell the police... And the tin of smoked salmon? Such a specific detail, so incongruous with the rest of her horrific tale, and yet it played a prominent role not once, but twice, appearing again in her story under the brake of his car...
Everything fit, and yet, nothing did. The buzzard perched on his shoulder and hissed through its beak, it's obvious... Some stupid kid was playing a practical joke in the lumber mill and she got spooked... Hit her head, dreamed the whole episode with the zombies and the head-ripping and the purple blood. Just nightmares, that's all...
Like how what happened to you was nothing more than a bad trip from a botched gas attack. You're both making Hell out of Hallucinations! There must be a rational explanation...
He leaned over her, brushed the hair out of her eyes so he could see into them clearly, gently stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. Said, "I believe you. Part of me is telling me not to, but I've already overstepped my boundaries as an agent by... omitting certain details in my account to the police... Not to mention what I'm about to tell you next."
The buzzard flapped its wings in his face, screeching, but he pushed it away, whispered into Charlotte's ear:
"Don't tell the Sheriff everything. Tell him... What you told me, the first time. Tell him you fell. You were taking photos in the lumber mill and you had an accident... and you can't remember anything else after that, until you got back to your car. This is... I have to think about this."
And the buzzard was quiet for a moment, because it liked plans, it liked the illusion that things were under control, and even though the buzzard hated that they were conspiring against the local law enforcement, it loved the idea of a disemboweled rabbit... The perfect meal for a bird of prey.
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Post by Emily Wyatt on Dec 12, 2010 12:39:38 GMT -8
Emily was relieved. Atlas would give George a second chance and she hoped next time they met it would be under better circumstances. Despite his macho bravado she knew George was a lonely guy. It would be great if the two could become friends despite this rough start. Hmm maybe she could convince George to come to SWERY 65 sometime and play darts or pool with her, Atlas, Tamika and Charlotte. She knew he wasn't particularly fond of the rowdy atmosphere but she was sure with such great company he could look past it.
"I'm glad to hear you'll be back on your feet soon!" But when Atlas grunted from the pain she frowned. It was definitely a bad night for the guy, it was never fun to be on the other side of the Sheriff's wrath especially in his current position!
She tried to think of some other topic to get his mind off the pain. She saw his half eaten Jello and asked. "So how's the food? Rumor has it that it isn't too bad around here!"
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Post by Atlas on Dec 12, 2010 12:53:35 GMT -8
"Believe me." Atlas responded. "After running through the woods in the rain, anything tastes good." he replied. He glanced to his left: the carrot cake box was still there, unopened, uneaten. "Wouldn't do me any good to eat my good luck charm, would it."
He was thinking back to what he said earlier. Did he really say that a giant dog chased him followed by limbo zombies? They must have brushed him off, thinking the drugs got to his head. To an extent they did, but not in the way they though. It felt more like a truth serum, it destroyed the psychological barriers that would otherwise cause him to lie. But would Emily believe him. He had to find out.
"Listen, about the story I gave you before. I know I was still on the pain meds and I know it sounds unbelievable, but everything I said was true." he said, solemnly. "I didn't believe it at first either, but I thought about another person." he went on.
"You remember Tamika, right? Yesterday morning, she was injured. She claimed that she had a bit of a tango with the "nightlife here." I figured that a bear or something must have gotten her, but when I saw those things' pale skin, tortured poses, evil moans and lifeless eyes, I thought to myself: whatever got me probably got her as well."
"I know this sounds crazy. I don't expect you to believe a word of it. Still, if you want a lead, you should talk to Tamika, she might know a bit more."
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Post by Emily Wyatt on Dec 12, 2010 13:21:09 GMT -8
Atlas was right, Emily did find his story hard to believe. In all her years here she's never seen anything like what Atlas described.
Well that's not completely true she's seen some normal sized dogs in the area but nothing she would consider giant.
She frowned, the man seemed pretty sincere and he's a lawyer. Why would he lie to the police? They were on the same side after all! It wouldn't hurt to at least talk to Tamika. If they shared the same story maybe the department had to be on the look out for a limbo loving clown gang.
Wow that sounded both pretty stupid and hilarious. Emily smiled as she pictured a large group of ICP Juggalos roaming the Greenvale streets with the sole purpose of scaring the citizens.
"Atlas I can't say believe you were chased by a giant dog or killer zombies but I know something bad must have happened. I will definitely have a talk with Tamika. Seems like folks around here are dropping like flies and any lead is a good lead in my opinion!"
At least I have some new info to pass on to George. Maybe with this small lead he'll calm down!
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Dec 12, 2010 14:22:33 GMT -8
There was a part of her, a small, stubborn part, that was screaming at her for having told David the complete, unvarnished truth... but it was too late. So she stuffed that part far away. Wishing she had done things differently was just a waste of time. She... felt drained, emotionally and physically. And laid bare, like she had revealed something so... intimate and personal to him that he could see down to the deepest part of her. it was... a little unnerving.
Waiting for his reaction was torture... Please let him believe me. PLEASE.
And then he brushed the curtain of hair she was hiding behind out of her eyes... gently stroking her cheek with the back of her hand. It was such an odd gesture, unexpected in every way, that she just... revelled in the simplicity of the touch. She, completely unconsciously, and almost imperceptibly, leaned into it.
And then he told her that he believed her... though a part of him was saying not to. He omitted things... because of me. Her stomach clenched again, as guilt swirled through her. She was just bad for other people to be around sometimes. For an instant, as he whispered in her ear, the desire to push him away, keep him at arm’s length, burned fierce and bright. It faded to a barely glowing ember... but it was still a possibility. The idea of actually doing it, though... hurt her more than expected, and she didn’t know why. Couldn’t explain it.
There were so many thoughts and emotions whirling through her head it was a wonder she wasn’t dizzy. Push him away, pull him close... don’t give him a chance to hurt you, give him a chance to be there... don’t tell a man like him a story like that without evidence... if he leaves there will be an emptiness in the room that may not be fillable. They overlapped and echoed each other, until she had to ignore them.
The camera... Maybe... She slid away from him to grab her jacket. Moving away from him... left a weird sort of emptiness that almost hurt. What the HELL is going on with me? She could worry about that later...
“Maybe this will help... Polly saw it... Willie SMELLED it. He kept growling at my pocket. And I didn’t touch it after getting injured. Not until the hotel.”
She pulled out her battered camera, with its grimy sticky spots and ash coating, and held it out towards him.
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Post by Atlas on Dec 12, 2010 15:06:23 GMT -8
Atlas tried to gauge Emily's reaction to his story. She seemed to frown, causing Atlas to do so as well. "It does sound a bit far fetched. I'll admit, if I heard the same thing from Tamika, I would have directed her to the nearest shrink." he mused. At the same time, he wanted to ask Tamika about what she saw before. With the knowledge that these Shadows exist, maybe she knows a bit more. Maybe they could fight these things together. Even if he didn't fully trust her, having someone watching his back was better than no one at all.
He was relieved that she at least was going to look into it. Maybe if other people came forward, she'd finally fully believe him. "She'd probably be able to stand up to the Shadows, though I'm worried that the giant dog would overpower her." he thought. "I hope that either the Sheriff's here are well armed or one of them knows a military contractor."
"I didn't expect you to believe my story. In all honesty, I would have done the same to anyone that told me. Maybe it's one of those things you have to see for yourself. Well...not that I'd ever want a giant dog to chase you." he replied, then gave a reassuring smile. "But thanks for at least looking into it and not dismissing me as a complete loony. I've said and done many crazy things, but this isn't one of them."
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Post by Emily Wyatt on Dec 12, 2010 15:33:16 GMT -8
Emily smiled and took a look around the small hospital room. Atlas was pretty lucky he scored one of the single occupant rooms. He even had a window! She spotted a small white pastry box with the words "Sugar Rush" stamped on the top.
"Oh! that's where my friend Bianca works, she's a wiz in the kitchen!" She peered inside...carrot cake? Well whatever it was it was in pretty bad shape with half the frosting coated the inside of the box.
"Oh it's a shame your pastry became a casualty in your adventure today. You'll have to ask Bianca for another at a later date. Her pastries are wonderful!"
"Do you go to Sugar Rush often?"
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Post by Atlas on Dec 12, 2010 17:36:59 GMT -8
"You know Bianca as well?" Atlas asked. Of course she does, he thought. She grew up here, after all.
"Indeed. When I saw her yesterday, she was the only one there, dutifully baking pastries. Just the aroma alone makes me want to stick around the place." he replied.
He eyed his carrot cake. "Yep, that was supposed to be my late lunch. Then I got waaaaay sidetracked. I'm surprised it made it this far. I suppose I held onto it like a good luck charm. Next time I see her, I'll be sure to give her a nice tip."
He adjusted his pillow and sat back, smiling. "To be honest, it was my first time there. I guess rainy days give me enough time to look for new places. It seems this time, fortune smiled upon me." he mused. "I think it's safe to say Lady Bianca will be having a return customer."
"I never figured out if they had coffee though. Whenever I enjoy a cake, a pie or another pastry, I like a cup of coffee to go with it. Kind of like having a beer with pizza."
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Post by Emily Wyatt on Dec 12, 2010 18:45:19 GMT -8
"Yes I do know her well a couple years now! She's such a sweetie and her treats are to die for. It's almost too much at times, cuteness overload! Seriously, she bake sweets, she's sweet...guess it's not called Sugar Rush for nothing eh!"
Emily gave a big smile,"Bianca even promised to help me become a better cook myself, that in and of itself should tell you just how amazing she is! One of these days I will bring in a batch of cookies and instead of running away they will swarm!" When that day comes I will rub it in Todd's FACE!
Emily thought a moment, "As for coffee I believe they do offer some...though it could be my wishful thinking. Tell you the truth I wish Starbucks would invade Greenvale already! Just give me a Venti Mocha with whip every morning and there would be no way my day could go wrong!"
Emily glanced at her watch, she wondered how long George would need to cool down. She hoped when he visited David and Charlotte he would keep his temper in control!
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