*/ son of god

But hey, at least the locks weren't his. That made it make all the more sense.

She stared back at him as he sat, inquiring on how long she'd been in town. It feels like minutes pass before she blinks, waiting for someone to jump out and say 'lol look at your face' or 'haha got you good'. But it doesn't come. "I don't know, a couple hours? It's late, so I was going to wait out the night before taking off in the morning. That okay with you?"

Her eyes flick briefly to the cat that brushes along his legs, seeming the most normal thing in this place comparatively. Then her gaze returns to him and narrows as he finally speaks - spewing some nonsensical story she can hardly follow. It would be her luck that she'd stumble upon some guy who has lost his goddamn marbles and locked her inside with him. Was this how people ended up kidnapped, or whatever?

No matter, he’d been going through sleepless nights for awhile, now. 

“Look, you can think I’m crazy all you want,” he said, leaning his head back against the wall and shutting his eyes, exhaling briefly before continuing. “You’re allowed. I can play along with that, then, and ask in return that you go along with my insanity, at least for the night, just so you don’t die. You can go somewhere else tomorrow if you want, but they’ll tell you the same thing. No one leaves here.” His toe nudges at Tripod’s belly, attempting to pet. “Do you like horror movies? Because we live in one.”

The other thing she immediately thought of was what it was exactly Emmett had meant by that. "Wait... when you came here were you in Ireland? Like did you go 'missing' in Ireland?" She accompanied the sentence with appropriate finger quotes. Were any of them missing if they were here, existing here, making a life here? It wasn't like Charlie assumed that everyone had arrived here from the United States, but it felt rare when someone originated from a different country. She smiled at him, as though so much of his disposition made sense to her now.

She shoved her hands into the front pockets of her pants and surveyed the poor state of the bar. There was something at his words that made Charlie question if she could ever be the type of person that fixed anything wrong with this place. Maybe years ago, certainly not now. "Knock yourself out," she stated. "I don't think anyone would have anything bad to say about that. And if they do I'll beat them up." She paused. "Well, I'll get Roux to beat them up. Have you met Roux? You'd remember meeting Roux.''

He nodded. “I was going for a walk,” he said. The circumstances he’d respectfully leave out - he didn’t want to get into the logistics of all of his family drama, as it still hurt his soul a little. The betrayal of his mother, father, and of his god. It was hard to stomach, even with as much distance as one could put between himself and the situation. “I would hope my Ma told people I was missing. I hope I didn’t just completely disappear. Out of everyone’s lives.”

Afraid the mood was about to shift to something a bit too grim for light conversation, he switched the subject. All he did was give a nod and a plain, “Yeah, I met Roux before.” when asked, but he peered over the edge to see what it looked like beyond the bar counter. “It smells like potatoes in here. Does it always smell like that?”

Of course it was only a matter of time. 

Emmett nodded. His shoulder was still wrapped and he was keeping a careful eye on it. “Logan was the one who found me,” he said. And under Logan’s guidance is where he’d continue to live while he healed. His biggest grievance was that he didn’t have the strength to do much more than sit around and wait; all of his various projects falling to the wayside as a result. 

The settlement still sent a flood of unease through him. He hadn’t been there yet, not in the entire time he’d been at Arcadia. He’d walked the path over a few times, but there was something about it that felt almost like an invisible wall, something that would not let his feet cross the threshold of its perimeter. There was always a dread that made him want to run for the hills whenever he was close. Perhaps it was his religious upbringing, that there was something to its mystique that was more tangible than just rumor. Nevertheless, what was he supposed to say? Beg Reyna to stay? What if next time she didn’t miss? It was pure luck that resulted in only his shoulder being stabbed, but it was a horrible pain and fear that he relived in his nightmares already. Instead, he nodded quietly in an attempt at being understanding.

But her question gave him pause, and he hesitated before answering. “I think so,” he admitted. It was confusing how to navigate this all, and his faith had never been so challenged in his life. “I guess I’m just worried of…” You’re worried you’ll turn out like her. “Maybe the settlement would be good for you, then.”

Thus, as she awaited in the foyer, she tried her best to nurture the spark which hoped Emmett could be relied upon not to lie about his health, though the legs of her trust felt a degree weaker the instant her eyes found him. Perhaps it was nothing more than the subpar light quality of being indoors, but he looked much paler than she would have liked. It was barely a valid symptom, considering how everyone’s pallor dulled as a side effect of residency, but silently noted nonetheless as she acknowledged his arrival with a gentle smile. 

“Oh, yeah?” Equal measures of relief, surprise, and pride bloomed within her chest at the knowledge that he had been taking care, at least recently. A small victory. “I'll be out of a job soon, at this rate,” she spoke warmly, teasing humour thinly veiling the curiosity beneath. “So it closed up alright? Any discolouration, swelling, abnormal discharge…?” The usual suspects, run-of-the-mill queries she assumed he would have the best grasp on to answer as the closest witness to the healing site. Her eyes briefly drifted down to where the hidden injury would have been on his chest, unable to resist wondering after the nasty state he’d been left in. Her fingers twitched at her sides, tapping lightly against the denim if her trousers. The lack of practical action left her restless, unwilling to physically overstep if his attention had been adequate yet desperate for whatever confirmation she could verbally pry from him. “When’s the last time you got some fresh air or sunshine?”

While he felt he owed her, he still had an itch in the back of his mind that it was better, safer, to lie to her about the extent of his injury. It hadn’t felt right since Nika’s visit, the muscle even more sore than it had been previously. The edges of it were angry, a dark red under his skin that felt hot to the touch and the veins had risen a bit. It had to have been infected, but there was this pit in this stomach that telling her such would be a bad thing. He wanted to give it some time, before he hit the panic button. It didn’t hurt him any more than it would have if someone stuck their fingers in a healing wound, especially where the muscles were no doubt working hard to stitch themselves back together. It would take time. 

So when she asked about any swelling or discoloration, he shook his head with ease. “Just gross,” he answered, and it wasn’t a lie. Sometimes he got a bit squeamish with this sort of thing, but he had only really been looking at the wound with curiosity instead of the usual aversion. “Well–” Don’t tell her about the projector. Or maybe, at least, what he’d seen out of it. That felt like his own little secret, save for the woman who brought him those wires that day, in the box of “junk”. Logan wouldn’t understand how amazing it was, he was sure of it. No, that was best left for his eyes, and his eyes alone. And all he wanted to do was go back into his hovel of darkness, watching those blessed images go by on a loop. But that would be too suspicious. “I could go for a walk,” he said, figuring that’s what she was implying. “Let me put on some shoes?”

"Oh?" she let slip out, turning towards Emmett like maybe she was seeing him for the first time. "Wait do you even drink? I probably should've asked you that before I brought your here, hey?" Charlie shrugged. They were here now, the least she could do was give him the tour. "I mean if you're ever looking for things to do, this place is a never ending eclectic collection of broken things." To suit its occupants. Charlie rattled off landmarks with accompanying gestures. "There's a dart board here, but only one dart so, requires a bit more patience. Um... the sink in the toilet drips. It's been dripping for like at least three years. We had a carpenter make some new bar stools a couple years back but some moron broke the legs on one of them by falling into them. She was sober too." She leaned in and whispered under her breath, "That was me."

"Anyway, he's dead now so no new barstools. The bar tap doesn't work but honestly for a bar in hell, it's got quite a lot of commodities."

The idea of fixing all the broken pieces in this town until he dropped dead was the only thing he could think to do that would have been worthwhile. Even if he was nothing but a mere blip on the radar of those back home, or in the world, he’d be making a difference. If he couldn’t leave a legacy on the silver screen like he wanted, this town seemed ageless, and maybe his contributions could help someone down the line, even if they don’t know it was one Emmett Alsford. There wasn’t much else to do around here anyway; that much he could concede. 

He took a simple look at the barstools. That could be a project… “Maybe I could take a swing at it?” he said, mind reeling. Emmett wasn’t much by way of carpentry, but there was no time like now to hone his skills.

The sudden brightness of the projector on the screen was nearly blinding, but it was affective in diverting her attention away from her previous line of inquiry. Once her eyesight adjusted to the brightness she turned her head towards the projection room and called back out to him. "I mean... it's on, if that's what you're asking?" She flicked her eyes from the room to the screen and then back at the room again. "Just boring though, a whole lot of static. Did you put a movie on or something? How does that even work?"

Emmett raced back down the stairs, rushing past her as he moved closer to the screen, in all its glory. It was hard to make out just what it was he was seeing - the footage was so grainy and likely warped from age. Making out just how old Arcadia was was a difficult feat in and of itself, but still. “I don’t know what’s in there,” he admitted. “I didn’t want to disrupt the film.” On the screen, he could just make out faces, some old, some young, their expressions going from hysterical laughter to exaggerated fear, and though it was hard to make out, it felt like it was a kind of vaudevillian silent films from the twenties. Still, Emmet was mystified, and he sank into one of the theater chairs. “Look at that! I wonder who made it.”

“How’s your pain level?”

“Like mental pain or physical pain?”

“Both.”

She's about to take a step off the curb and say something else to the things that call from the woods, but before anything coherent can escape her something grabs onto her elbow with a rather aggressive yank. "Hey!" She yelps as liquor sloshes from the bottle in her hand, scowling as she nearly loses her footing on the pavement and is practically thrown into the cinema. She doesn't get a good look at the young man until he releases her and frantically goes about locking up the doors - "Shit dude, do you have enough locks on that thing? One usually does the trick."

If she was more alert and less addled by the liquor running rampant in her bloodstream she might've been more worried about the fact that some guy had just dragged her into a building that he was now hastily locking them into together. Instead, she brushes off her arm like maybe he'd left some grime behind when he'd grabbed her, then takes another swig of the liquor.

"I think if one of us is trying to get themselves killed tonight, it's you. You're the one who is freaking the fuck out about some...kid or something playing hide 'n seek, or whatever. You always so jumpy? You're gunna give yourself a heart attack or something - and let me tell you, I do not know how to do the CPR thing, so you're good as toast if you do keel over. The fuck is wrong with you?"

“They aren’t mine,” he said. No, they were here already, working just fine when he showed up here and were kind enough to stay working to keep him safe in the night. Emmett finally faced at her at the assumption that the things walking outside were merely school children, playing some sort of trick on them. “Are you mad?” he blurted. “What do you mean what the fuck is wrong with me, what’s–” He stopped, brows pinching together. Oh, she’s new, and so uneducated. “How long have you been in this town?” he asked, before taking a seat at a stool by the door, studying her. Not that Emmett got around much, but he most definitely didn’t recognize her, and it was a small enough town for people to have at least an inkling of understanding at who their neighbors were.

And he realized then that the burden of having to explain what it was like here, give her the run down of the place, and hope she believed him enough not to unlock all the doors and rush out to prove him wrong, dooming them in the process. Tripod chirped and rubbed at the stool leg as Emmett heaved a sigh, unsure where to start. “Those things outside aren’t people,” he started, and already thought he was doing a bad job. Tell her, about all the things that really go on at sundown. “I don’t know what They are, nobody has a good answer. But they like your fear, they want you afraid, sad - anything that gets you outside, so they can get you. Hence the locks.”

Leandro smiled at the kind gesture and overall manners that Emmett displayed despite the lack of societal norm in Arcadia. It’s the same values he planned to instill in his kin so they grew to treat others with respect and kindness. A nod of thanks acknowledged the younger male opening the door while Leandro slid through the threshold and led the way to his usual booth. “I had been meaning to get to that, thank you. I’m sure that also extends to Valentina.” Lea let out a brief chuckle then moved on, “How is your living arrangements over in the cinema, by the way? Do you find yourself in need of anything? I know there was a small food storage space over there, have you gathered enough to sustain yourself through the night and in case of any coming storms? We can’t be too careful.”

Emmett followed him to the booth and his stomach grumbled almost instantly - he was always a bit worried about shortages of food here, and he was the kind of person that could eat, but he was feeling in a jovial mood and wanted to indulge past the coffee and two eggs he typically asked for. Besides, he wasn't sure coffee would be the type of delicacy that would last here forever, so he should probably stop drinking it anyway - lots of water for him then. He skipped over the mention of Valentina, still not sure if the seamstress liked him very much (and he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer), but moved right on to his living quarters. "Things are fine," he answered. "I've been working at the one projector almost since I've been here. The projection room sort of became my bedroom. It's kind of in the way, but it's too heavy to move and all I really need is a bed anyway–" The waitress came over to interrupt, and Emmett ordered himself some toast and raspberry jam, one of his favorite summer indulgences. It might not be the same here, but it would be enough to bring back the memory.

The cat returned and Nika bent down to pet it, remnant of Emmett's blood staining its fur where her fingers stroke the top of its head. "There are no laws in hell town, no due process." She began evenly, standing up to look at him, her eyes on the blood in the fabric of his shirt. "Even if there was, you don't think someone would try to kill her before attempting to understand her? She is formidable, but they hate that around here, don't they. If you care about her, you'll keep the source of your injuries to yourself."

“I’m trying to understand,” he defended, quiet and lame but albeit still determined. He didn’t think everybody was going to go full on panic mode - besides, there was a town-wide nightmare scenario going on in each of their heads anyway. It wouldn’t be totally unheard of for something to go a little crazy. And from what he was hearing, Reyna seemed like she was being proactive in some way at least, to keep her distance. That was smart, he thought. “It’s not exactly something to brag about anyway,” he said. Emmett whistled at Tripod and got in closer to shoo him away from Nika in the hopes to protect, standing closer to her than he would have liked but still stood up straighter in an attempt to be braver. “Give Reyna my best,” he spoke, before nodding over to his left, his fingers curled into an unsteady fist under his sling. “The door’s that way.”

It seemed innocuous enough of a question, though if Charlie tried to think about movies she had watched before Hell Town it made her head hurt, as though attempting to recall things that weren't here physically hurt her. She guided him from the cinema to the bar, a short distance from the cinema and one she was certain he had done at least once. There was, after all, no shortage of things getting broken in that bar for him to fix (a few of those caused by hurricane Charlie/Akami which had made landfall a few weeks prior). "You know, that's a good quality to have around here. I think too many people try to just survive, but its good to have a purpose I think." They reached the bar and Charlie held the door open for him. "After you, my friend."

Emmett nodded. The closer they got to their destination, the more the rock of anxiety that sat in his gut solidified, but he was doing his very best to not be bothered by it, to swallow it down and go along with his friend - susceptible to peer pressure as ever, thy Emmet Alsford. “I do want to try,” he said. “It’s already hard enough here. Being away from things. It’s the least I can do.” And it was enough to quiet his mind - keeping his hands busy and his brain focused on one task at a time was all he could do to keep from going mad. Emmett gave her a little smile and cautiously stepped inside the bar. It was… grimier than he expected, but then again, what was he expecting? “I’ve never been in here.”

Jules probably would have left, in fact there was no reason for her to stick around now that this (out of character) selfless deed had been completed. But there was also no reason to leave. It wasn't like she had a hair dressing appointment, or a training session, or literally anything in the world happening for her once she stepped out of the cinema. It also wasn't as though the boy had given her any option to answer in the negative.

Instead she watched him sprint out of the room and up the stairs, a protest forming and then dying in her mouth. "Yeah sure, I'll stay here and watch you tinker with shit," she mumbled to herself sarcastically. Given the opportunity she wondered the aisle, ran her hands against the fabric of the seats and felt the smooth velvet. It was an outdated type of fabric for a theatre but it did make her slightly nostalgic for something she had never had. Then she reached a seat where the red was stained with a darker red. "Ummmmm..." she called out towards the projection booth, "what the fuck happened here?" Some sort of weird voyeuristic sacrifice no doubt.

His shoulder felt a little sore again, but figured it was just a flareup of it getting re-injured a little while ago. He didn’t want to think about that, though - the thought easily pushed itself out of his head at his mental command, and he went back to his tinkering. “Thank you!” he shouted again. He peered over the edge, past the window that looked out to the house. She was hovering right by the seat he was tied to not long ago, where his blood had turned an ugly brown over time, staining the already red seat further. “Accident,” he called, the lie easily rolling off his tongue and his tone indicating that he would not add anything else to reasoning. 

Something clicked, and the projector started humming. Emmett held up his hands as if to surrender, watching and waiting to see if it indicated anything important. “Oh my god,” he mumbled, before shouting louder:  “I got it!” The projector shone, flickering quite a bit while it settled onto the silver screen across the theater. He got back underneath it, fiddling with a few more wires - as gleeful as he was, his work wasn’t done yet. “Do you see anything?”