#jade!gif

Fingers tracing along the faded wallpaper, you guide yourself through the hallway entrance. You pass the old wooden stairs heading upstairs, and need to lift your hand as you pass the door-less opening to the living room. Too dark to see inside, you continue forwards.

Your Grandfathers shotgun waits were you remember it would be. The weight of it familiar- and in a way, like always before- comforting in your grasp. The scribbled signature on the stock has been eaten away as much as anything in the house, the name unrecognizable but in your memories vision.  Your fingers curl against the firearm, squeezing tight into another hand to hold. Nervousness rises in your throat, and you fight it by walking stubbornly forward.

SF: i always preferred rifles to shotguns but this one seemed really important to my grandpa

SF: he used it when he went away to fight with the resistance!

That was a long time ago, but you had always enjoyed his stories once he returned home. For a while things had been simple. Blood rushes loudly in your ears, swallowing as the door you have been heading for comes into view. Another plain, oak door, with nothing remarkable or noticeable about it. It has not been that long since you have encountered this door. You shift your head, smiling down to Mado,

>dream

        it

      wasn't

  it wasn't

                you don't

believe

                            that

you a re 

re memb 

er   in   g ever

You’ve been pleasantly watching out the car window again, quite content to lose yourself in fleeting, meaningless thoughts and the imagery of New Orleans passing by. You wonder just how far off from the garden district you are. You can’t even begin to form an idea of what you’re going to be doing after that; the city feels like an awfully large place to be searching for someone with no clues or hints to go off of. You hope, probably even without your help, the two lost boys are doing alright and are not in too much DANGER or EMOTIONAL TRAUMA OF ANY SORT. A silly, off-topic wondering of what type of flower is growing all along some patches of road distracts you, and you wonder if Feferi will be able to join you and Eridan later.

Your head finds itself pressed against window, glasses uncomfortably tilted to the side. All this thinking and worrying sure does make a girl tired again. You hold back a yawn, fingers drumming lazily across the bass case in your lap.

>Interesting passenger. Start up a conversation.

You could start brainstorming search ideas. Ask if he thinks they can try texting anyone else.

Or if Eridan is getting tired of all this driving.

Or for his opinions on the extreme underground, developing sport of koala kickboxing.

Or you could fall asleep.

>Dream [S]

...

=> that was

  ==> a long time ago.

>Wake up

You wake up with a distressing little jolt, like someone’s who’s been caught off guard by a stranger shaking their shoulder. You adjust your glasses and stretch out your arm that’s fallen asleep, blinking and trying to figure out if the car is still moving or not.

SF: oh….