![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Reconnoiter // for Jack
23 October, 2019
Anne returns to the white clean rooms called theirs carrying the pineapple she bought at the grocery store, and finds the place empty and quiet. She and Jack went out separate, the only form of plan or arrangement being a return before dark. She knows he can handle himself, and she knows more than ever this city's dangers aren't the sort to which they're accustomed. Whether that means he's more or less likely to fall into some trouble she can't really say, but it don't serve her in particular to worry over it. Never been like this before, where being apart at all felt so unsteady. But with everything else gone, they're all they've got.
She remembers the little device they'd each been given—'phone,' they call it—and how it's supposed to let them communicate across distances, just like that. Most of the contents of her welcome packet are strewn across the little table in the kitchen, and she fishes through it for the phone, holding it up and poking at it a bit. She hates it, the smallness of the images and the words, the way it produces its own light, the colors. It don't feel right, feels like something that shouldn't exist. She sets it back down. She'll wait for Jack like normal.
She clears some of the mess up, taking her time gathering the papers into a neat pile which she can set aside. She sets the pineapple in the center of the table, and after staring at it for a moment, goes to fetch herself some water. Feels strange, just always having it run freely from this faucet. She still feels certain it'll run out eventually. And she ain't used to the taste. But being out all morning's taken its toll, so she fills a glass and sets it on the table as well. Then she sits.
She waits like that, occasionally sipping her water, for what feels like a long time, and probably isn't. When the door finally opens, she looks up quickly and then gets to her feet.
Anne returns to the white clean rooms called theirs carrying the pineapple she bought at the grocery store, and finds the place empty and quiet. She and Jack went out separate, the only form of plan or arrangement being a return before dark. She knows he can handle himself, and she knows more than ever this city's dangers aren't the sort to which they're accustomed. Whether that means he's more or less likely to fall into some trouble she can't really say, but it don't serve her in particular to worry over it. Never been like this before, where being apart at all felt so unsteady. But with everything else gone, they're all they've got.
She remembers the little device they'd each been given—'phone,' they call it—and how it's supposed to let them communicate across distances, just like that. Most of the contents of her welcome packet are strewn across the little table in the kitchen, and she fishes through it for the phone, holding it up and poking at it a bit. She hates it, the smallness of the images and the words, the way it produces its own light, the colors. It don't feel right, feels like something that shouldn't exist. She sets it back down. She'll wait for Jack like normal.
She clears some of the mess up, taking her time gathering the papers into a neat pile which she can set aside. She sets the pineapple in the center of the table, and after staring at it for a moment, goes to fetch herself some water. Feels strange, just always having it run freely from this faucet. She still feels certain it'll run out eventually. And she ain't used to the taste. But being out all morning's taken its toll, so she fills a glass and sets it on the table as well. Then she sits.
She waits like that, occasionally sipping her water, for what feels like a long time, and probably isn't. When the door finally opens, she looks up quickly and then gets to her feet.