[Sodium_noir] Hell is Other People

[Jennie Teakle]

SInclair Party
Verandah

Jack, Christine
Piss Artists


> [Jack]
> Giving Aurora and the elderly matron an unsteady, but
> polite nod of farewell, he leads Christine swiftly out
> a nearby set of french doors and onto a covered
> veranda.  The chill and damp came as welcome relief.
> Jack sways a bit, pointing to the hand Christine had
> held in a painful death-like vise only moments before.
>  “Not that one, darling.  We don’t want to let that
> one bleed. Not yet.”
>
> He leans against the wall, trying to determine just
> how drunk he is and how much more drinking he’s
> capable of before he loses consciousness.  It is, to
> be sure, a very fine line.  His brow furrows as he
> gives a sideways glance to Christine.
>
> “Okay.  What was wrong with that old woman and why did
> you freak out?”


[Christine]
Christine subsides to the verandah steps, head in her hands, eyes  
clenched shut. Several moments pass. Then, Christine opens her eyes,  
stares out at the floodlit gardens, her expression bemused.

"Y'know . . . " she says, " . . . fresh air actually *does* help."  
She turns her face toward Jack  - carefully, like someone afraid  
their head may fall off and roll away. "See, I get these . . .  
visions. Past, sometimes future. That old lady? I thought I was  
getting some kind of flashback but . . . "

Christine breaks off and her eyes widen suddenly. "But I wasn't," she  
says, her voice rising excitedly. "I actually *have* seen her before.  
I mean, in real life! Shit! Her and her Village People reject  
chauffeur! Outside St Bridget's. Her name is Evelyn or Eve . . .   
Carrington? Something like that. With Father Bellamy - she's the  
eccentric parishioner . . .oh man!" Christine begins to laugh, her  
relief palpable. "Oh, thank God! The dizzyness? Hallelujah! That was  
the just the booze!"

She scrambles to her feet - unwisely, stumbles a little and grabs at  
the handrail beside the steps. She spends a minute steadying herself  
finally looking directly at Jack, grinning self deprecatingly. "As a  
skunk!" she states. "Honestly. I can hold my liquor. I just may need  
to hold it while sitting on that bench thing over there. For a little  
while." She holds out one hand to Jack and as she sees his injured  
hand, her face fills with contrition. "I'm so sorry about mauling you  
just then. Seems like such a lot happened tonight already - I forgot  
about you being  . . . y'know. Death's door? I didn't even ask how  
you're doing. Forgive me?"

Christine makes it to the upholstered ornamental seat on the  
verandah, sits down cautiously, smiles an invitation to Jack. "Maybe  
we could both do with a little sobering up time. Chat, maybe? I think  
Aurora's okay for a minute or two. And she knows where to find us."  
Christine lays one hand on the seat's carved arm rest, stares out at  
the magnificent night-lit  gardens. There is a fountain/water-feature  
effort dominating the foreground. Looks like it may have been  
imported from goddamn Versailles.  How the rich live, thinks  
Christine. Mara's world. The one she was born into, anyway. The booze  
is obviously working it's lovely anaesthesia, she reflects. Thinking  
about Mara doesn't hurt or make her crazy at the moment. She glances  
at Jack. The night gives his face an unfathomable quality, veils his  
expression. Christine smiles faintly.

"So how *are* you doing, Mr. Mystery?" she asks. "Any closer to  
working out who you really are or what happens next?"


Tag Mr Mystery :-)








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