TIREDNESS LOCKS ONTO HIS SHOULDERS; who would’ve thought his life would lead to endless nights of trying to solve cases, files upon files that do nothing but drill more DISTURBANCE into his head. He’s GLAD when justice is served —— that’s the REASON why he chose that job, on the first place —— but when days PASS without a CLUE, he senses DESPERATION he never believed he’d own. If only he could RETRIEVE his full power, things would be entirely different…but then again, owning everything he once had whilst being on Earth WOULDN’T be a punishment, would it?
Hands are buried in the pockets of his jeans; PAIN circulating through his back due to exhaustion and the CONSTANT concealment of his wings. He walks in hopes to find the nearest OPEN establishment that can offer him a bit of solace…and a CARAMEL MACCHIATO. Whilst on his sluggish stroll, he’s able to see a WOMAN whom seems to be handing out pamphlets…or something along those lines. Just by seeing his AURA, he can tell she’s DESPERATE…WORRIED.
Curiosity and his inherent need to HELP drag him to her. He crosses the street, approaching her, and as soon as he’s near, her face gets replaced by a PHOTOGRAPH of a man. Gold and blue irises fix themselves on the picture. Why does he seem…FAMILIAR? God, it must be because he sees pictures of faces almost every single day. Maybe he’s mistaking him with someone else…NO, WAIT——–WAIT. Lark looks up to see her, and without missing a beat, he asks:
“—————why are you looking for a ghost hunter?”
there it is, the sign she’s been waiting for: this is not all for nought. It’s good, isn’t it? that this man recognizes her friend in the photo enough to know his profession? if so, then why is her stomach stuck in her throat? why has her body suddenly flashed, adrenaline shocking her system with the surprise of such a simple question? he feels so close, yet still so far from her.
her mouth is dry, but she manages. is this it? will this man provide the vital information required to finally find connor? will he know where he is, what he’s been up to over these last few years of uncharacteristic radio silence? she’s finding difficulty with both not inundating this stranger with questions, as well as articulating the simplest of them. “you’ve seen this man?”
“connor? connor stevens, he’s —” just some stupid boy she met in high school that she tutored and somehow, after all of the years between then and his disappearance, had become the greatest friend of her life? “he’s been missing since fall 2016. one day here, the next day…” gone. without a word. “he always...always keeps in touch.”
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