09-18-2025, 02:36 PM
“JesusfuckingChrist,” expels itself from Near’s throat, three words conjoined into an inoperable mass of sound that hurtles toward the back of the wasteland that is his freezer.
He’s been hovering there in front of it for a while now, the door lolling open, surveying his collection of boxed microwaveable meals without coming to a conclusion about whether he’s hungry enough to bother. Now he’s definitely not. Hunger is forgotten and replaced with pure jumpscare response. The paroxysm encapsulating it is aimed less at Jude, specifically, than at the unexpected manifestation of Jude’s voice somewhere outside of the insipid chatter that’s still emanating from the television. (As if Jude appearing on the newscast instead would be preferable.)
Snapping around to locate where, exactly, the point of origin is, he locates it quickly enough: there’s Jude in the flesh, daintily taking off his shoes like he is once again planning to stay a while. Near’s own nonslip New Balance sneakers, well broken-in, are, as usual, still on, in spite of their potential to track whatever was on the floor in the bar into his living space.
“Hey?” He lobs the word back in the shape of a question, very pointedly an insinuation of “do you not knock?” more than a casual greeting returned.
He’s been hovering there in front of it for a while now, the door lolling open, surveying his collection of boxed microwaveable meals without coming to a conclusion about whether he’s hungry enough to bother. Now he’s definitely not. Hunger is forgotten and replaced with pure jumpscare response. The paroxysm encapsulating it is aimed less at Jude, specifically, than at the unexpected manifestation of Jude’s voice somewhere outside of the insipid chatter that’s still emanating from the television. (As if Jude appearing on the newscast instead would be preferable.)
Snapping around to locate where, exactly, the point of origin is, he locates it quickly enough: there’s Jude in the flesh, daintily taking off his shoes like he is once again planning to stay a while. Near’s own nonslip New Balance sneakers, well broken-in, are, as usual, still on, in spite of their potential to track whatever was on the floor in the bar into his living space.
“Hey?” He lobs the word back in the shape of a question, very pointedly an insinuation of “do you not knock?” more than a casual greeting returned.