"I'm in good company, then," Jo said to the empty room, well aware of the danger this game held. But not what it was, or why.
He'd already destroyed what looked like all of the front room of his house. Stolen, borrowed, etc, whatever house. That was all ruined. The window and bookcase. The furniture. A bad decision in highlighter writing. She couldn't even begin to account for how long and how impossible it would be to replace these things with the whole fuck ton of nothing they had in this place that wasn't here before them.
There's a breath in her nose, before she decides to step in, because she's going to and she does. One foot across the threshold, and then the other. Picking her way around debris of broken objects, some of which she can tell what is and most of which she doesn't spend too much time looking at. Her eyes staying focused on the doorway to the dining room that she thinks his voice was coming from.
It takes more steps than it should, and she's aware of all of them, by the time she gets there. Sees him the last place she expects.
Huddled on the opposing doorway floor, between the dining room and the kitchen. Elbows on knees and head hanging. Looking almost every inch of his posture the same as his house. Dangerously a wreck barely strung together.
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"I'm in good company, then," Jo said to the empty room, well aware of the danger this game held. But not what it was, or why.
He'd already destroyed what looked like all of the front room of his house. Stolen, borrowed, etc, whatever house. That was all ruined. The window and bookcase. The furniture. A bad decision in highlighter writing. She couldn't even begin to account for how long and how impossible it would be to replace these things with the whole fuck ton of nothing they had in this place that wasn't here before them.
There's a breath in her nose, before she decides to step in, because she's going to and she does. One foot across the threshold, and then the other. Picking her way around debris of broken objects, some of which she can tell what is and most of which she doesn't spend too much time looking at. Her eyes staying focused on the doorway to the dining room that she thinks his voice was coming from.
It takes more steps than it should, and she's aware of all of them, by the time she gets there. Sees him the last place she expects.
Huddled on the opposing doorway floor, between the dining room and the kitchen. Elbows on knees and head hanging.
Looking almost every inch of his posture the same as his house. Dangerously a wreck barely strung together.