[ Watching Ian work at length is an oddly relaxing visual. There’s something about the steady, methodical way he creates each piece — because Mace can see, now, that it’s a component-by-component situation for the flashlight — and sets it aside that soothes the tiny, overworked mechanic that lives in the back of Mace’s brain.
It wanders to the front to watch from behind his eyes, and when he meets Ian’s gaze at that incredulous-sounding Southpaw, it’s not amusement in his eyes, but something fond and easy. ]
I’m guessing the Angler.
[ Why yes, he’s being a smartass, and it’s clear in the way he raises his eyebrows despite the softness in his gaze; but it dissipates as he gives Ian’s question the serious thought it requires. Gets a little lost in it, gazing at the blue glow like another man would gaze into a fireplace, as Ian starts up on what must be the most complex component of all.
Then, slowly: ]
If we were being lured in there, I get the feeling it wouldn’t have been immediately bad. Maybe this entire fuckin’ place is a trap from top to bottom and that’s the last piece. Could be that the bad cave air’s concentrated there, and we just.
[ A muscle works in his jaw, remembering how he’d been so ready to go through it, so ready to believe it was a way out, and if Ian’s hand hadn’t been steadying them … ]
Keep hallucinating worse. Not like the cabin, I don’t think. This place is different, I keep thinking of it as a labyrinth for some reason, and —
[ Maybe they'd have walked through that door and believed that they did make it out; and the whole time, they'd still be here. And just not know it. To Mace, it's a fate uglier than the cabin's. A slow, drugged death, surrounded by the bones of every other poor sonuvabitch who wandered in here too. But he just shrugs, knowing if he tries to put that into words, how fucked up it'll sound. Also probably dumb. Settles instead for, ]
Maybe that's the belly of it.
[ A wry quirk of his lips, before glancing away from Ian’s hands to do his periodical lookout sweep of the area in front of them on all three sides. So far, all clear. ]
no subject
It wanders to the front to watch from behind his eyes, and when he meets Ian’s gaze at that incredulous-sounding Southpaw, it’s not amusement in his eyes, but something fond and easy. ]
I’m guessing the Angler.
[ Why yes, he’s being a smartass, and it’s clear in the way he raises his eyebrows despite the softness in his gaze; but it dissipates as he gives Ian’s question the serious thought it requires. Gets a little lost in it, gazing at the blue glow like another man would gaze into a fireplace, as Ian starts up on what must be the most complex component of all.
Then, slowly: ]
If we were being lured in there, I get the feeling it wouldn’t have been immediately bad. Maybe this entire fuckin’ place is a trap from top to bottom and that’s the last piece. Could be that the bad cave air’s concentrated there, and we just.
[ A muscle works in his jaw, remembering how he’d been so ready to go through it, so ready to believe it was a way out, and if Ian’s hand hadn’t been steadying them … ]
Keep hallucinating worse. Not like the cabin, I don’t think. This place is different, I keep thinking of it as a labyrinth for some reason, and —
[ Maybe they'd have walked through that door and believed that they did make it out; and the whole time, they'd still be here. And just not know it. To Mace, it's a fate uglier than the cabin's. A slow, drugged death, surrounded by the bones of every other poor sonuvabitch who wandered in here too. But he just shrugs, knowing if he tries to put that into words, how fucked up it'll sound. Also probably dumb. Settles instead for, ]
Maybe that's the belly of it.
[ A wry quirk of his lips, before glancing away from Ian’s hands to do his periodical lookout sweep of the area in front of them on all three sides. So far, all clear. ]
Why, what do you think's behind it, Professor?