Kyle nods and goes to do as he's told. This won't be to bad.
Bad air, stairs, heavy loads, crushing boredom, all these you find to be relatively minor problems, as they seem to be either largely physical in nature or at least easily overcome with a little willpower, nothing at all compared to a general directionlessness, an existential crisis, annoying nightmares straight out of goddamn nowhere, persistent memory loss and fucking Todd.
So, to put it simply, you just put everything you have into your current, somewhat mindless task and try not to think at all, which, miraculously, you seem to perfectly succeed at, at least in relation to what you're doing. As a consequence, time practically flies as you, Jones, the librarian you talked to previously (whose name is apparently Joyce) and Jones' seemingly older brother Bob (he looks exactly like you'd imagine the average Bob would look, too, which in turn leads you to notice that Jones looks a little like a Bob as well, the sudden awareness of which is mildly surprising).
Sure enough, in about four hours, which is, as far as you can tell, considerably sooner than expected, the bulk of the carrying, sorting and reorganization is done, due in large part to your robotic, tireless adherence to the task and also your shrugging, apathetically grimacing refusal to take any smoke breaks, which both the ladies appear to enjoy for about half an hour to every one and a half hours of work. Bob, though, continues working with you throughout this time, trying his best to keep up with your productivity.
In any case, you're done now, and when Joyce and Jones get back from their break, they are pleasantly surprised to say the least.
"Hey, look, we're done," Jones observes as they enter the repository that you spent the last hour in organizing books ranging from
Journey to the Center of the Earth to thirty mint condition copies of
Rasputin: the First Modern Parahuman? "Didn't think that'd ever happen, I'll be honest with you."
You cough to yourself, your throat tickling with the dust you've been breathing.
"No kidding," says Joyce, looking genuinely happy. "And it's all thanks to Bob and..." she looks at you, furrowing her brow, "... and I forgot to ask you what your name was, but you're a treasure, you are. What
is your name?"
Carrie "watches" from a safe distance. She was mad enough that she could spit, but it didn't matter, she had played her hand already. No point in crying about it. She pays as close attention as possible to all parties.
Things are heating up, you think. Exploding dude seems pissed at this cowboy guy for some reason, and appears to be approaching him if your freeze-frame views are any indication.
Meanwhile, Ilo and One Eighty appear to be retreating to a safer distance, ducking down, probably to avoid another blast. One Eighty has an excited look in her eyes, you think. She's probably saying something to Ilo as well every so often. Ilo continues to not give a single solitary crap about things as far as what you can tell from his face.
The crowd seems in danger of serious injury if the guy explodes again. Some people in it are already injured, you note, but they don't seem to care all that much.
A girl that the guy blasted away, one you're aware was standing near the cowboy guy when you did the last check, seems to have a broken arm, judging from her reaction. Maybe some internal bleeding too, you don't know.
Still glaring at the man steven also begins to scowl angrily and begins walking towards him again.
He doesn't scowl back. It's just that same, squinting glare and drawn mouth. You start walking toward him, and he doesn't move an inch as you draw closer and closer.
Author
Topic: Worm: Edwardstown (Read 136234 times)