03-10-2023, 12:25 AM
They circle one another, anchored by each other's gravity, kept in orbit by their opposition. Near cannot imagine that he has misjudged Jude, and Jude cannot imagine -- what can't he imagine? No, the failure with Jude is not imagination. It's too much imagination. If Near can see clearly, Jude can't remember to duck to not hit his head on a low doorway. He keeps misjudging the distance, or forgetting this doorway only has five and a half feet of clearance. Over and over he is surprised.
(But then, when he regards Near in equal measure to what he's offered, Near is displeased with that too. Is there no satisfaction?)
He blinks at the question. His pride begs him to conjure a full-bodied answer, fleshy and vibrant. Instead he submits, "Not much," likely to elicit scoffing and complaints.
The process itself is tedious. Jude did not walk out with the little black book of apocalypse supporters. He came to The Reaches first because he had been there often, because Courtland Farr's name and face were the strongest impressions in his mind. From there he has had to balance remembering, researching, and scuttling around. Names, faces, professional associations -- cities, neighborhoods, houses, work schedules, the probability of an allegiance versus a betrayal. Money. Begging for money. Attempting to explain that the apocalypse is terrible to people who he once helped convince it was the best possible relief from worse things. Explaining and then running.
Small relief that the world is dying slowly, he supposes. If he plays keep-away for the rest of his (un?)natural life, that probably also solves the problem.
"I've convinced a few people. But it's hard to know who really believes." He shrugs. "And Juliet is around, somewhere. I have to stay ahead of her."
He still feels the pull of her, the whisper of her through the shadows. Sometimes there's nothing, and other times, it is like he is being pulled down, down, down into quicksand, where she's waiting at the bottom.
(But then, when he regards Near in equal measure to what he's offered, Near is displeased with that too. Is there no satisfaction?)
He blinks at the question. His pride begs him to conjure a full-bodied answer, fleshy and vibrant. Instead he submits, "Not much," likely to elicit scoffing and complaints.
The process itself is tedious. Jude did not walk out with the little black book of apocalypse supporters. He came to The Reaches first because he had been there often, because Courtland Farr's name and face were the strongest impressions in his mind. From there he has had to balance remembering, researching, and scuttling around. Names, faces, professional associations -- cities, neighborhoods, houses, work schedules, the probability of an allegiance versus a betrayal. Money. Begging for money. Attempting to explain that the apocalypse is terrible to people who he once helped convince it was the best possible relief from worse things. Explaining and then running.
Small relief that the world is dying slowly, he supposes. If he plays keep-away for the rest of his (un?)natural life, that probably also solves the problem.
"I've convinced a few people. But it's hard to know who really believes." He shrugs. "And Juliet is around, somewhere. I have to stay ahead of her."
He still feels the pull of her, the whisper of her through the shadows. Sometimes there's nothing, and other times, it is like he is being pulled down, down, down into quicksand, where she's waiting at the bottom.