lady_bols: (lost)
She's dreaming again.  The difference is, she knows she's dreaming.  Not even the creative demons of her own subconscious mind could mask the ridiculousness of this little snippet.  

The first thing she becomes aware of is a tapping.  Someone's rapping their knuckles against a thick plate of glass.  It's perpetual, and incessant.  Someone is trying to get her attention.

Tap tap tap tap tap.

She can also hear Molly's voice, shouting for her.  "Mummy, come on!  You've got to get up!  Mummy, please!"

Tap tap tap tap tap... )
lady_bols: (s3 resigned)
Whenever Alex needs a moment to gather her thoughts, she writes.  Usually, her notes are disjointed, a noun here, a verb there.  Names, places, emotions.  She prefers to use the tape to keep her journal.  It's easier when she thinks she's talking to someone else. (Molly.  Where is Molly now?  Where is Gene?)

He's down there with his team, but she knows he'll be coming up those stairs soon.  She's left her shoes on, tidied up the place a bit, actually made the bed for once.  Not that she's slept in it for months.  

She feels him before she hears the knock at the door.  Like a change in the air just before a summer storm, or that sensation you get when know someone else is in the room even if you can't see them.  He has a presence about him.  Always has.  

She puts her notebook away in the bookshelf, and crosses the living room to her front door.  For some reason, she checks the peephole at the door, even though she already knows who it is.  She's not sure why, but the butterflies in her stomach feel more like fear than anticipation.
lady_bols: (s3 razor girl)
Getting out of the office feels good. Less stagnant. He’d say it was a chance to get away from his thoughts, but that wouldn’t be right, exactly. They go with him, just hidden a little behind the roar of the Quattro’s engine, and the prospect of a nice bit of trouble.

ANC. Bloody terrorists. He doesn’t care to think about it further than that. As they troop down wooden stairs to the drinking den, he can hear angry voice rising up to meet them. Someone’s getting called a Judas, by another person who’s bloody furious.

Tasty.

‘Are we in Dalston, or did we just take a wrong turn into Bogo-Bogo land?’

It's not the done thing to say. )

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December 2013

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