#allwaltend

Itchy.

That’s how it felt to be amongst a crowd. Itchy. Alfred had never been a people person, obviously, but to be around this many of them in so tight a space? He could already feel the perspiration on his forehead, his hands grow clammy and warm. However, this was a necessary evil, one required should the game stay afoot. Ashford had waited, watched as SHE went down the list of charitable donors, even bounced slightly on the ball of his good foot as he waited for his name to come up, waited to see Claire in person once again.

And then it happens, and she looks for him in the crowd, not yet meeting his eyes until he’s cleared them all. Alfred looks around, nervous, and then catches her gaze with his own. A wry smile tugs at mouth’s corners.

                      HER HOME IN SHAMBLES,  umbrella agents gnashed through familial memories like greedy  termites.  marguerite watched her greenhouse suffocate by chemicals, pesticide forcing her poor babies to shrivel with their underbellies exposed.  she wanders  aimlessly,  now  ——  twigs scraping against her bare feet & botflies nestling beneath her nails. hideously elongated digits send ripples through swampy waters until she's startled by a shrill noise.  little evie's influence has  DIED,  but a murderous instinct whispered  kill, kill, kill!