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from the ground up // for Sweeney
Jul. 22nd, 2020 02:10 pmJuly 10th, 2020
It isn't on purpose that Anne finds herself here tonight, wandering down the same street where she found Mad Sweeney shouting blood and triumph at the gods; nor is it with any intention that she ends up following the same path they'd taken at the time, toward the pub where he'd introduced her to 'Southern Comfort.' The steps are familiar, as many the city's pathways are becoming, and if there is anything else that draws her there, it is surely coincidence.
It is late; she isn't sure of the hour, only that she needed a walk. Her thoughts are unsettled as always, though at least tonight she has specific focus. She made a promise to two young women, not long ago, but long enough that she knows it's past time to act on it.
The trouble is she isn't sure where to begin. She's never taught anyone anything before, not beyond small things, quick things, only ever in the heat of the moment. This is something different. She'll need Jack's help, only she hasn't told him anything of it yet. She hopes he will bring her clarity of purpose, as he always has; that with his guidance, this will not simply be an idea, but will calcify into a proper plan. This is also why she has delayed telling him; the promise of momentum makes her nervous.
She's considering returning home to have it over with when another opportunity presents itself first, in the form of the mad god-king himself staggering out of his pub and nearly right into her path.
Anne stops, peering up at Sweeney, considering his immense size and evident strength, and all she's learned of his story. And she considers herself, her shortcomings, the things she'll need to know to explain to Beverly and Rosie, who lack her history and experience. Perhaps, if she wants to teach someone something altogether new to them, she ought to relearn it herself.
"You," she says gruffly by way of greeting, lifting her chin to him. "Need your help with something."
It isn't on purpose that Anne finds herself here tonight, wandering down the same street where she found Mad Sweeney shouting blood and triumph at the gods; nor is it with any intention that she ends up following the same path they'd taken at the time, toward the pub where he'd introduced her to 'Southern Comfort.' The steps are familiar, as many the city's pathways are becoming, and if there is anything else that draws her there, it is surely coincidence.
It is late; she isn't sure of the hour, only that she needed a walk. Her thoughts are unsettled as always, though at least tonight she has specific focus. She made a promise to two young women, not long ago, but long enough that she knows it's past time to act on it.
The trouble is she isn't sure where to begin. She's never taught anyone anything before, not beyond small things, quick things, only ever in the heat of the moment. This is something different. She'll need Jack's help, only she hasn't told him anything of it yet. She hopes he will bring her clarity of purpose, as he always has; that with his guidance, this will not simply be an idea, but will calcify into a proper plan. This is also why she has delayed telling him; the promise of momentum makes her nervous.
She's considering returning home to have it over with when another opportunity presents itself first, in the form of the mad god-king himself staggering out of his pub and nearly right into her path.
Anne stops, peering up at Sweeney, considering his immense size and evident strength, and all she's learned of his story. And she considers herself, her shortcomings, the things she'll need to know to explain to Beverly and Rosie, who lack her history and experience. Perhaps, if she wants to teach someone something altogether new to them, she ought to relearn it herself.
"You," she says gruffly by way of greeting, lifting her chin to him. "Need your help with something."
