They must've had their fill of us and let us out, but...
[But who were "they", really? What motive could they have for snatching them up, bringing them together, keeping them like pets in that skeleton of a city? And did that have something to do with their seeming change of hands now?
It's hard to think in a straight line, and it's hard to say whether that's from the seeming amnesia or the smoke inhalation or the ache in his bones or some mixture of the three. But the two of them are together, and that's something. If there's one thing he does remember with vivid recollection, it's the ease with which they'd settled into each other's rhythms, taking up halves of a whole matter without even a word needed between them.
They're safe, and they're not on fire, and they're hurt but they're not dead. He eases his leg up into the elevated position and groans audibly as it settles, and he's not sure whether it's from ache or relief or both.]
Out of the fryer and into the fire, mayhap. Though this all looks promising.
[He gestures at the security camera feeds. Recalls a taste of a memory from very far away, of a dark-haired man writing behind a desk and two others aching on leather couches like he is, and that room had been full of screens, too.]
no subject
[But who were "they", really? What motive could they have for snatching them up, bringing them together, keeping them like pets in that skeleton of a city? And did that have something to do with their seeming change of hands now?
It's hard to think in a straight line, and it's hard to say whether that's from the seeming amnesia or the smoke inhalation or the ache in his bones or some mixture of the three. But the two of them are together, and that's something. If there's one thing he does remember with vivid recollection, it's the ease with which they'd settled into each other's rhythms, taking up halves of a whole matter without even a word needed between them.
They're safe, and they're not on fire, and they're hurt but they're not dead. He eases his leg up into the elevated position and groans audibly as it settles, and he's not sure whether it's from ache or relief or both.]
Out of the fryer and into the fire, mayhap. Though this all looks promising.
[He gestures at the security camera feeds. Recalls a taste of a memory from very far away, of a dark-haired man writing behind a desk and two others aching on leather couches like he is, and that room had been full of screens, too.]
I don't suppose you know how to work them?