Elvis Moreau (
wasblindbefore) wrote2017-11-30 04:53 am
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I find shelter in this way, under cover, hide away
It's not that he isn't nervous. This whole thing is, frankly, pretty fucking terrifying, not to mention nonsensical, and though there's been an attempt at installing further security, being here isn't a guarantee of being safe. Elvis certainly feels closer to it, though, down here in the basement. There's only one way in, he has a baseball bat nearby if he needs it, and he can, hopefully, get through the night passing the time by working. If he had to guess, he'd be willing to bet good money that after tonight, there will be a pretty significant influx in business, his being probably the one line of work in which that isn't actually a good thing.
Maybe it's strange, to make a living off dead people. He's never known anything else, though, only the responses he's gotten for most of his life when talking about what his family did, what he now does. Besides, someone has to do it. It might as well be him.
At least if this has to be happening at all, he has Gwen with him to wait it out, keeping in touch with her friends who are out on the streets. It's a good compromise, he thinks, and is pretty sure he doesn't have to say. She can contribute while being inside, where it's at least relatively safe, and he won't have to spend the night worrying that she'll wind up in an alley with a knife between her ribs again, and no powers to help her heal this time.
In fact, if it weren't for the gravity of what he knows must be going on outside, this might almost be kind of enjoyable. As it is, he's not sure he could manage not to think about it, but he cracks a smile at Gwen over his work, and wonders, not for the first time, how the hell he found someone who's so alright with all of this. "What's the word from outside?"
Maybe it's strange, to make a living off dead people. He's never known anything else, though, only the responses he's gotten for most of his life when talking about what his family did, what he now does. Besides, someone has to do it. It might as well be him.
At least if this has to be happening at all, he has Gwen with him to wait it out, keeping in touch with her friends who are out on the streets. It's a good compromise, he thinks, and is pretty sure he doesn't have to say. She can contribute while being inside, where it's at least relatively safe, and he won't have to spend the night worrying that she'll wind up in an alley with a knife between her ribs again, and no powers to help her heal this time.
In fact, if it weren't for the gravity of what he knows must be going on outside, this might almost be kind of enjoyable. As it is, he's not sure he could manage not to think about it, but he cracks a smile at Gwen over his work, and wonders, not for the first time, how the hell he found someone who's so alright with all of this. "What's the word from outside?"
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At least, not any that might be on the streets right now, but that's not a clarification that seems worth making.
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"The whole thing is completely batshit, though," she adds, "so who even knows what people are thinking anymore?"
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He's long since been more inclined to believe the worst in people than the best, but this is something else entirely, something he wants no part of.
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But at least, here, even if she's hidden away from it all, she's helping. She wouldn't be able to abide it, just sitting here, twiddling her thumbs. At least like this, she's got some kind of a purpose.
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