[ Fear's something March knows, but this? This is something else entirely. This is like the fire a few weeks back, that white-hot cold-blooded melange of fuck that lingers in his chest with a weight that makes it difficult to get up, difficult to do much of anything but hide in his basement like a coward. Wouldn't be the first time. Probably won't be the last.
He gets up off of the cold cement and pushes his way out of the house when he feels it lift, jacket on but unzipped from his hurry, half stumbling as he pulls himself out of the daze the scream had given him. Maybe it's the moon on the red hair, maybe it's willfull ignorance: March jogs out, gaze focused on Randvi and not the scene at first--is that blood around her mouth?--as he speaks. ]
What are you talk--Oh, shit.
[ Hard to ignore the dead body for long. March feels like he's going to throw up, stomach churning. In an attempt to avoid that he leans down, hands on his knees. ]
i.
He gets up off of the cold cement and pushes his way out of the house when he feels it lift, jacket on but unzipped from his hurry, half stumbling as he pulls himself out of the daze the scream had given him. Maybe it's the moon on the red hair, maybe it's willfull ignorance: March jogs out, gaze focused on Randvi and not the scene at first--is that blood around her mouth?--as he speaks. ]
What are you talk--Oh, shit.
[ Hard to ignore the dead body for long. March feels like he's going to throw up, stomach churning. In an attempt to avoid that he leans down, hands on his knees. ]
Jesus Christ.