INLAND EMPIRE - (Home can be scary.) Of course it’s scary! Everything he hears is awful. Every single time! He thinks it can’t get worse and then it does!
CONCEPTUALIZATION - (It’s a never ending cavalcade of horrors, always on its way to reach you.)
LOGIC - (Since when have you made him hear anything about Dora? Nothing recent…)
INLAND EMPIRE - (Her name still hurts you. Jean knows this, he’s stunning you with it. You’re unable to move on, unable to pull away from the memory of freezing ice slick streets and the looming shadow of the old silk mill. The winters are the worst. They’re always the worst.)
INLAND EMPIRE - (Bodies freeze in the gutter. The wind pulls and pushes endlessly against your raw skin. She tells you where she is bleeding and hurting. And you listen. And the people on the street stare when you scream and beat your knuckles bloody on brick walls. It never ends. From the windows of the old silk mill you can see a crumbling tenement building and you wonder how much longer you’ll be able to spot it on the grey skyline. Before it’s rubble.)
He makes a face as the kebab stand starts coming back to him. They really thought they’d gain some immunity to food poisoning from that shit.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - (Sound logic.)
HALF LIGHT - (It was maggot infested.)
“Maggots. That shit had fucking maggots in it…”
ENCYCLOPEDIA - (In an island off the coast of Messinia there is a cheese that is considered a rare delicacy, casu martzu. A kind of cheese made of sheep’s milk that is purposefully introduced to living fly larvae. It is served rancid and squirming with insect life.)
[It takes him a few seconds to connect the dots back to what Harry was saying, and he nods vigorously. He knows he's teetering on the edge of the pit again, so he tries to keep his momentum going, talking quickly before he doesn't feel like talking at all.]
It's possible to bring your own lunch in, probably, but nobody ever does. Bunch of bachelors. You could find stuff in the dumpster that was healthier for your body than the kebab stand. You did, couple times. Fuck—ing disgusting, but better. Not worse, at least. Sometimes McLaine buys a big can of that rancid processed meat shit and fries it in the office. Whole. The fucking worst.
[Never in a thousand years would Jean ever think about being homesick for his horrible job in his horrible city, but he is. Missing Judit is one thing, but he's starting to miss the rest of it—the bad parts, the worse parts, from his nightmarish colleagues to the slow poison of his lifestyle. Harry has to remember, or else Jamrock and the 41st may as well be gone.]
There isn't any fucking privacy in that goddamn shithole, besides Pryce's office and the closet they put Jules in. Everything carries. You can hear someone take a piss in the washroom from the front door. Everybody throws shit at everybody else.
EMPATHY - (He’s talking, this is good. You’re doing good. You’re helping him. He wants to die a little less right now. Or he’s stopped actively thinking about it as much.)
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - (Look at that energy. This is probably the most he’s said in days.)
ESPIRIT DE CORPS - (You used to do this for him. You used to be good for him. In the old days you’d bring him food. Make sure he ate and get him talking. More of the same the next day. Slowly you'd lure him out of his apartment with the jogging. Jean's a lot like an ornery horse. He needs steadiness.)
“…yeah. Loud.”
ELECTROCHEMISTRY - (Horrible place to be hungover. The clomping of boots, constantly. Then the smells. You weren’t the only person throwing up in the trash bins.)
PAIN THRESHOLD - (You can hear a pen drop from across the room. Twisting knives in the back of your hangover. Fuck McLaine and his little girl laugh. Squealing bastard.)
EMPATHY - (No privacy to cry in peace. Everyone knows everything.)
HALF LIGHT - (Smothering closeness. Sweat and unwashed male bodies packed together like horses. And you, always twitching and pacing. Like a tiger. You nearly mauled a young patrol officer who startled you.)
ESPIRIT DE CORPS - (That was *your* fault, you brute. Jean handled it.)
“I remembered uh. Finding a burger in the trash I guess…”
HALF LIGHT - (Muffled screaming from the holding cells, the closest any room got to being soundproofed. McCoy stomping his boots on the stairs out of the dungeon, hollering for Gottlieb. He’s a sloppy trigger happy maniac. He'll never make captain. Things started going sour between you after that first Yefreitor. And his big loud voice booms. “Been an accident down here!”)
COMPOSURE - (And everyone looks the other way.)
INLAND EMPIRE - (Don’t go there. Don’t go down to the dungeon. You don’t have to remember it.)
VOLITION - (Pull back. Now.)
“Gave that shithole 10 years maximum before it collapses on us all.”
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jesuisfatigue) wrote2022-05-09 02:38 pm
cw nasty food, insects
INLAND EMPIRE - (Home can be scary.)
Of course it’s scary! Everything he hears is awful. Every single time! He thinks it can’t get worse and then it does!
CONCEPTUALIZATION - (It’s a never ending cavalcade of horrors, always on its way to reach you.)
LOGIC - (Since when have you made him hear anything about Dora? Nothing recent…)
INLAND EMPIRE - (Her name still hurts you. Jean knows this, he’s stunning you with it. You’re unable to move on, unable to pull away from the memory of freezing ice slick streets and the looming shadow of the old silk mill. The winters are the worst. They’re always the worst.)
INLAND EMPIRE - (Bodies freeze in the gutter. The wind pulls and pushes endlessly against your raw skin. She tells you where she is bleeding and hurting. And you listen. And the people on the street stare when you scream and beat your knuckles bloody on brick walls. It never ends. From the windows of the old silk mill you can see a crumbling tenement building and you wonder how much longer you’ll be able to spot it on the grey skyline. Before it’s rubble.)
He makes a face as the kebab stand starts coming back to him. They really thought they’d gain some immunity to food poisoning from that shit.
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - (Sound logic.)
HALF LIGHT - (It was maggot infested.)
“Maggots. That shit had fucking maggots in it…”
ENCYCLOPEDIA - (In an island off the coast of Messinia there is a cheese that is considered a rare delicacy, casu martzu. A kind of cheese made of sheep’s milk that is purposefully introduced to living fly larvae. It is served rancid and squirming with insect life.)
no subject
[It takes him a few seconds to connect the dots back to what Harry was saying, and he nods vigorously. He knows he's teetering on the edge of the pit again, so he tries to keep his momentum going, talking quickly before he doesn't feel like talking at all.]
It's possible to bring your own lunch in, probably, but nobody ever does. Bunch of bachelors. You could find stuff in the dumpster that was healthier for your body than the kebab stand. You did, couple times. Fuck—ing disgusting, but better. Not worse, at least. Sometimes McLaine buys a big can of that rancid processed meat shit and fries it in the office. Whole. The fucking worst.
[Never in a thousand years would Jean ever think about being homesick for his horrible job in his horrible city, but he is. Missing Judit is one thing, but he's starting to miss the rest of it—the bad parts, the worse parts, from his nightmarish colleagues to the slow poison of his lifestyle. Harry has to remember, or else Jamrock and the 41st may as well be gone.]
There isn't any fucking privacy in that goddamn shithole, besides Pryce's office and the closet they put Jules in. Everything carries. You can hear someone take a piss in the washroom from the front door. Everybody throws shit at everybody else.
cw police brutality
EMPATHY - (He’s talking, this is good. You’re doing good. You’re helping him. He wants to die a little less right now. Or he’s stopped actively thinking about it as much.)
PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT - (Look at that energy. This is probably the most he’s said in days.)
ESPIRIT DE CORPS - (You used to do this for him. You used to be good for him. In the old days you’d bring him food. Make sure he ate and get him talking. More of the same the next day. Slowly you'd lure him out of his apartment with the jogging. Jean's a lot like an ornery horse. He needs steadiness.)
“…yeah. Loud.”
ELECTROCHEMISTRY - (Horrible place to be hungover. The clomping of boots, constantly. Then the smells. You weren’t the only person throwing up in the trash bins.)
PAIN THRESHOLD - (You can hear a pen drop from across the room. Twisting knives in the back of your hangover. Fuck McLaine and his little girl laugh. Squealing bastard.)
EMPATHY - (No privacy to cry in peace. Everyone knows everything.)
HALF LIGHT - (Smothering closeness. Sweat and unwashed male bodies packed together like horses. And you, always twitching and pacing. Like a tiger. You nearly mauled a young patrol officer who startled you.)
ESPIRIT DE CORPS - (That was *your* fault, you brute. Jean handled it.)
“I remembered uh. Finding a burger in the trash I guess…”
HALF LIGHT - (Muffled screaming from the holding cells, the closest any room got to being soundproofed. McCoy stomping his boots on the stairs out of the dungeon, hollering for Gottlieb. He’s a sloppy trigger happy maniac. He'll never make captain. Things started going sour between you after that first Yefreitor. And his big loud voice booms. “Been an accident down here!”)
COMPOSURE - (And everyone looks the other way.)
INLAND EMPIRE - (Don’t go there. Don’t go down to the dungeon. You don’t have to remember it.)
VOLITION - (Pull back. Now.)
“Gave that shithole 10 years maximum before it collapses on us all.”