#disastercorvid

“Cold’s finally breakin’, huh?” Though he’s certainly addressing the man standing beside him on the street, this spark of conversation is entirely unprompted. Most would consider him a rambler -- but Job is perfectly fine with that definition (he likes to talk and he likes making friends -- sue him). Words a jumbled-up mutter, his lips pursed around the filter of a cigarette as he pats his pockets down for his lighter; he glances at the other with a wide, goofy-looking crooked smile on his lips and adds, “Ain’t so bad sleepin’ in the park no more this time a’year.”

‘     NEVER   HEARD   O’   VANDALISM    ??     ’          and here he’d been ,          passionately laying bare for the other the  DEEDS  of proinsias cassidy before ww2 had even begun ,        when a near impossible notion hits him with disturbing disbelief .          ‘     yeh kno’ that means we  HAVE  to hit the town now so i can show yah .     ’

At this point, Fitz couldn’t remember how long he’d been walking.

It hadn’t even been his plan to set out walking, not initially. He’d come out to this forest for a bit of peace, time away from the rest of his life and the nagging feeling he sometimes got when he saw things. The visions, dreams - whatever one might prefer to call them - were an intermittent, but often jarring interruption in his day-to-day life; Fitz wanted so badly to be normal, and usually went out of his way to ignore these things when he did see them. Sometimes that worked, but other times it was as if something unseen called to him, begging him to pay closer attention, to look for something. It was like a presence at his back, a humming at the back of his head that refused to go away as long as he refused to look. So look he did - eventually, begrudgingly, with a diviner’s pendulum.