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Post by Mister Stewart on Jan 14, 2011 2:13:55 GMT -8
He wasn't...quite sure what to say to her question. For a long moment, Michael just stood there, his eyes downcast, hand pressed to the table to try and steady his wobbling body...the room was starting to spin a little. Despite his position, despite his will...he would have to go home and rest. There was no other option. If he didn't, he might collapse again...twice in just a few days. Mister Stewart would be upset. He couldn't do that. Not right then, not when there was so much going on...not with all these strange newcomers coming to town, not with the murder, not with this malady plaguing the town that he couldn't even see-
He coughed again, that odd taste still on his tongue. Finally, he spoke.
"...I...don't tend to sleep well at night...my dreams...sometimes...give me a bit of a...fright." That was as much as he would say for the moment, as much as he could say...something in him told him he should not say any more. He took a pace away from the table, swaying precariously on his feet. He rubbed his eyes - quickly, as if he didn't want to close them. He was going to drive in this condition?
As much as Mister Stewart knew, as much as he probably realized Michael was unwell...would he really have let the boy drive when he could hardly seem to stand up?
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 14, 2011 11:12:08 GMT -8
Charlotte was beginning to think that letting Michael drive back to the mansion would be a very bad idea. He didn’t look like he’d be able to walk unaided, let alone get behind the wheel and drive. Mister Stewart couldn’t have known. He wouldn’t have let Michael go if he had. She knew that (even if she had had her doubts).
“Are you okay to drive? I... could give you a ride,” she offered, the words falling from her lips before she could stop them. Not that she would have. She had to at least try. “Or call you a cab. Or... something.”
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Post by Mister Stewart on Jan 14, 2011 13:41:38 GMT -8
Despite his better efforts, he could feel his temper flare a little when she offered to drive him...the only indication of this being being the slightest narrowing of his eyes. "I'm fine," he rasped hoarsely, starting to back away from her. He needed to leave now. He had to get home.
His head pounded more sharply, making him grimace in pain and lace his fingers into his hair. Half-remembered words ran through his mind - words in her voice - but they were hazy, far away.
“...Are you afraid? Hiding behind a man in a wheelchair. I never thought you were such a coward. I’m kind of ashamed to think I was...someone so...gutless. Or... are you just...terrified? Is that it? Is that why...Mister Stewart? Afraid you’ll lose without him?”
Shaking his head a bit as if to clear it, he inadvertantly backed against a bookshelf, crying out and flinching forward away from it. He fell to his hands and knees, pretending to move to pick up the book he had dropped as (rather unconvincing) cover. He placed it up on the table, shoving a bookmark that had fallen out of it into the pages near the end.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 14, 2011 14:03:28 GMT -8
Charlotte was at a complete loss for words. What the fuck had just happened?? She’d offered him a ride (which had apparently irked him), and then... he was grimacing in pain and backing into a bookshelf. Which appeared to hurt him far more than the relatively mild impact ought to have. He tried to cover the fall by acting as though he was picking up the book that had fallen... but she knew better. What the hell is going on with him? He hadn’t seemed this bad the last time it rained... Was it possible that the rain’s effect on him could vary?
“... maybe you should head home,” she told him quietly, trying to ignore the obvious fact that he was on his knees, in pain, and pretending he’d done it on purpose. She fervently wished that she had stayed back at the hotel, in bed with David... instead of heading out to the library. Note to self, next time remain in bed with the incredibly attractive man. The library is not going anywhere.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Jan 15, 2011 22:50:52 GMT -8
Shuffling back onto his feet, he used the table as leverage, his tired eyes moving upward to meet hers. His face was so pale...it was unclear, very unclear, whether he could make it all the way to the Mansion safely. He regretted the way his temper had slipped, but he could feel it still rising...that odd, slow burn somewhere inside him.
"Perhaps I should...I know you're right...." His voice was almost too quiet to hear as he backed away, giving an awkward little bow of the head. "...Please...take care. Have a good night." With one last, haunted look, he turned on his heels, staggering his way through the bookshelves and out of sight.
He left the book behind, the bookmark (rather clearly his - that ivory paper with the maroon edging matched his business card) still protruding from it.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 15, 2011 23:45:47 GMT -8
Charlotte breathed a ragged sigh as Michael staggered through the bookshelves and out of sight. Why the whole encounter had made her skin crawl a little she didn’t know. Maybe it was the feeling like she was missing something. Either way... that had been a little bit bizarre. Mister Stewart was very much right to be concerned. For a moment she considered leaving him a message, or maybe emailing him, about what had just happened.
I can do that later...
Scrubbing a hand through her hair (WHY hadn’t she just remained in bed with David? No, she had to go to the library...) she absently picked up the copy of Jekyll and Hyde that the other man had left behind. Almost without thinking, her fingers found the bookmark and opened the book to the pages it marked.
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Post by Mister Stewart on Jan 16, 2011 0:08:43 GMT -8
The bookmark, now that it was in the open, had two distinctive marks about it. One such mark was an embossed bird in the center, taking flight.... The other was a scorch mark...right along the lower edge of the marker, as if it had been held over a lighter. The page he had chosen at random...but it was worn, dog-eared as if it had been read many, many times over the years. The book itself seemed keen to open itself to the page, too...the spine bent enough that it remained open easily on its own. "At all hours of the day and night, I would be taken with the premonitory shudder; above all, if I slept, or even dozed for a moment in my chair, it was always as Hyde that I awakened. Under the strain of this continually impending doom and by the sleeplessness to which I now condemned myself, ay, even beyond what I had thought possible to man, I became, in my own person, a creature eaten up and emptied by fever, languidly weak both in body and mind, and solely occupied by one thought: the horror of my other self. But when I slept, or when the virtue of the medicine wore off, I would leap almost without transition (for the pangs of transformation grew daily less marked) into the possession of a fancy brimming with images of terror, a soul boiling with causeless hatreds, and a body that seemed not strong enough to contain the raging energies of life. The powers of Hyde seemed to have grown with the sickliness of Jekyll. And certainly the hate that now divided them was equal on each side. With Jekyll, it was a thing of vital instinct. He had now seen the full deformity of that creature that shared with him some of the phenomena of consciousness, and was co-heir with him to death: and beyond these links of community, which in themselves made the most poignant part of his distress, he thought of Hyde, for all his energy of life, as of something not only hellish but inorganic. This was the shocking thing; that the slime of the pit seemed to utter cries and voices; that the amorphous dust gesticulated and sinned; that what was dead, and had no shape, should usurp the offices of life. And this again, that that insurgent horror was knit to him closer than a wife, closer than an eye; lay caged in his flesh, where he heard it mutter and felt it struggle to be born; and at every hour of weakness, and in the confidence of slumber, prevailed against him, and deposed him out of life."
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 16, 2011 22:01:11 GMT -8
A shiver ran down Charlotte’s spine as her fingertips brushed the scorched edge of the bookmark. The feeling of unease only grew as she read the pages it had marked. ‘above all, if I slept, or even dozed for a moment in my chair, it was always as Hyde that I awakened...’
Something made her tuck the bookmark down into the pages, close the book and stack it on top of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. She couldn’t say why, exactly... It’s been a long time since I’ve read Jekyll and Hyde. That’s all.
With a sigh Charlotte continued wandering through the bookcases.
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Post by Wes Uccello on Jan 16, 2011 23:01:40 GMT -8
Perhaps in spite of himself, Wes had decided to brave the town again. The... interesting events earlier in the morning (which had actually left a faint red mark across his forehead and nose) had left him wondering if they were supposed to be a message to get out or stay in, but he decided on the former; the sky looked like it would be raining soon, so he thought he'd get out while the weather was fair. His wrist was still feeling too tender to take one of his birds out (they would have to perch right on the stitches, after all), so he figured he'd go spend some time with his other favorite people-substitute: books.
He arrived after Michael had left; this was probably just as well, since he would've nagged the suited man about that lunch money he owed and neither of them would've been happy. It was the first time he'd actually been to the library; he was a little surprised with how well-stocked it was, if not musty smelling. Figuring he'd only worry about getting a card if he found something he wanted to check out, he starting looking though the bookcases for something that sparked his interest... preferably not a crime story.
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 17, 2011 0:49:00 GMT -8
Charlotte absently brushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes as she wandered down another row of bookcases. The unease that had accompanied her interaction with Michael had finally faded, which left her able to enjoy the simple pleasure of being in a library again.
She trailed her fingers along the spines of Shakespeare’s plays. It wasn’t that she needed to get any of them out from the library; she had accumulated her own copies of them over the years, but she couldn’t help but see what of his works libraries carried. There were some that were damn near universal. And others that were rather rare.
Rounding the corner, Charlotte picked another row at random. She wasn’t, however, expecting anyone else to be in said row. Nor was she expecting that person to be familiar. She was oddly pleased to see him, though. She pretty much knew what she was getting into running into him. It wasn’t a bloody minefield of social interaction. She couldn’t help but smile.
“Hello, Wes.”
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Post by Wes Uccello on Jan 17, 2011 1:23:56 GMT -8
Wes has fingering through the books in his usual way, which was a bit unusual; he would put four fingers on the tops of four books, and, one at a time, tilt them out to look at the corner of the cover. This was a little annoying, but not too loud.
He wasn't surprised to hear someone else coming - it was a public place, after all - but he wasn't expecting the face he saw when he looked. He looked shocked to see her... and not happy about it. After looking at her, he quickly scanned all other directions to see if anyone was watching, then went back to going through the books with determination. All of a sudden, he was nervous, agitated; the books got louder.
She said his name, and his shoulders raised further. There was a hesitation before he responded, quietly, so that it was difficult to hear over the books.
"Your agent friend told me in no uncertain terms to leave you alone. So I can't say hello, Charlotte."
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 17, 2011 1:48:04 GMT -8
Oh for crying out loud She appreciated David trying to protect her (it was very sweet), but she’d done an all right job doing that herself before they’d re-crossed paths. Granted, she’d done kind of badly in the past couple of days, but THOSE problems weren’t exactly natural or normal. So still...
She sighed, scrubbing a hand through her hair. She had no idea how to go about this...
“Look, I know that David was... just doing his best to protect me, and I know he’d appreciate you heeding his words... but he doesn’t speak for me. I choose my own friends.” She smiled lopsidedly. Not that they were friends, or any such thing, but it was the first word that came to mind. “I know he thinks that you’re dangerous, and maybe you are... but I don’t think that you’d hurt me. Unless I did something first.”
Charlotte leaned against the bookshelf across from him, leaving plenty of distance between the two of them.
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Post by Wes Uccello on Jan 17, 2011 18:33:31 GMT -8
Charlotte's words didn't seem to make Wes lighten up much. He continued as he was while she spoke; since he wasn't looking, he didn't see her smile. However, once she finished, he stopped and glanced over to her for a moment. He looked almost happy, but apprehensive about it. But the look disappeared, and he stared at the sides of the books as he replied.
"... You're right. I wouldn't hurt you. Not unless you stepped on my toes, and probably not even then. But he hates me, the feeling is mutual, and I don't want to give him a reason to act on his grudge..." He sighed. "I appreciate the way that you have a modicum of faith in me, though."
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Post by Charlotte Jacobs on Jan 17, 2011 19:27:42 GMT -8
Charlotte sighed, resting her head against the books behind her. She thought he looked almost... happy for a moment, but whatever the look had been faded. He still didn’t remain looking at her for very long. It didn’t bother her, though.
“Whatever is between the two of you is between the two of you. But it’s not between the two of us. You won’t. I promise.” She shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I?” It was an honest question. He hadn’t done anything for her to not have faith in him, especially about that.
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Post by Wes Uccello on Jan 17, 2011 19:59:07 GMT -8
"You're right. It is between us, not you... but if he goes after me again because of you, I won't be happy," Wes said frankly. He started flipping through the books again; he tried to make it look casual, but he was still tense, as if he was expecting the agent to appear at any moment and go off on him. He was.
"Let's see... because you're his friend, because I was picking on you when we first met, because I made an ass of myself at breakfast?" He shrugged, though he still had his back to her. He could think of plenty of reason, though he was gathering that, thankfully, Henning had most likely not told her anything about him.
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