Jay freezes, just out of sight behind the stall selling children's toys in the shape of a holy man who crippled himself for his faith. The angels break around him in a wave of chiming light, assuring him of the joy to be found at Tot's feet, but he's not questioning his place beneath her blessed heel. No, he's questioning whether he's the only monster hunting this particular festival.
Somebody is watching him.
It's a feeling, nothing more, but with or without memories he's a creature of instinct. The metaphorical hairs are standing up on the back of his neck as he tilts his head gently one way, then the other, listening for any sounds that don't fit in with the brilliant chaos on the other side of this canvas wall. The angels shriek at him to continue in his pursuit of the young lovers, and it's with tangible regret that he loosens his grip on Tot's glory, the better to concentrate on his potential pursuer.
It's entirely possible that he's imagining things. He's figured out by now that he sees things others don't (thanks to the hand of the Most High), and this wouldn't be the first time that he's identified a threat where none exists. Her touch is a gift, and it's entirely his failing that causes that gift to sometimes show him things he cannot comprehend. Perhaps this is one such time.
Or perhaps there really is someone -- or something -- out there.
Where are you? he thinks, fingertips grazing lightly over the handle of the knife taped to his forearm. I know you're out there. Show yourself!
no subject
Jay freezes, just out of sight behind the stall selling children's toys in the shape of a holy man who crippled himself for his faith. The angels break around him in a wave of chiming light, assuring him of the joy to be found at Tot's feet, but he's not questioning his place beneath her blessed heel. No, he's questioning whether he's the only monster hunting this particular festival.
Somebody is watching him.
It's a feeling, nothing more, but with or without memories he's a creature of instinct. The metaphorical hairs are standing up on the back of his neck as he tilts his head gently one way, then the other, listening for any sounds that don't fit in with the brilliant chaos on the other side of this canvas wall. The angels shriek at him to continue in his pursuit of the young lovers, and it's with tangible regret that he loosens his grip on Tot's glory, the better to concentrate on his potential pursuer.
It's entirely possible that he's imagining things. He's figured out by now that he sees things others don't (thanks to the hand of the Most High), and this wouldn't be the first time that he's identified a threat where none exists. Her touch is a gift, and it's entirely his failing that causes that gift to sometimes show him things he cannot comprehend. Perhaps this is one such time.
Or perhaps there really is someone -- or something -- out there.
Where are you? he thinks, fingertips grazing lightly over the handle of the knife taped to his forearm. I know you're out there. Show yourself!