SC. 02 INT. PUBLIC HOUSE — NIGHT. › GEOFFREY MCCULLUM I WISH I COULD SAY I’M MAKING A DIFFERENCE, BUT I DON’T KNOW.
LONDON IS SMOTHERED AT THE FINAL CURTAIN CALL OF DUSK. it goes not quietly, but with cries and hapless prayers for divine salvation that does not come. evil cannot be washed away with a tear, nor rainfall.
petrichor infuses with city smog as lightning snaps at the sky like the jaws of a rabid dog. THUNDER, THE DEEP - BELLY GROWL that claws up his chest and bears its teeth against his rib - cage. 𝙴𝚃𝙷𝙰𝙽 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙻𝙴𝚁 knocks back the beast with a swig of irish whiskey, “ from where i’m standin’, seems like you’re doing your best. ” then another, wasting not a drop, “ i’d say any effort in this fight is a damn good one. ”
SIN SWELLS LIKE A BLISTER, ACHING UNTIL IT POPS. it leaks through your fingers to the bottom of your soul like livor mortis— somewhere forgiveness cannot reach. “ we do what we can. save who we can save. if you think about the rest… well, it’s best not to ” , the words trail off, as if from a growing distance.
DAMNATION: a familial mass grave and the realization that you will never have another place to call home. ethan is suddenly firm with his eye contact, “ but you’re no good out there if you can’t think straight. that means takin’ a break. ” he grabs the bottle off the table with a little shake and an otherwise natural smile, “ care to join me? ”
ᐟᐟᐟ 𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗗𝗜𝗧𝗦: @fanaiceach as GEOFFREY MCCULLUM.
