WHERE: the flurry festival, december 17 WHO: open!
Knox was decidedly not in the Flurry Festival spirit. In fact, as he looked around at the people openly laughing, in various stages of celebration, it frustrated him.
People died. People they knew.
Callousness hardened him against them, found him meandering in circles further and further away from the Nativity scene he'd been volunteered to set up before the first performance later tonight. Last year, he would have been the first one there, obediently staging, filling the manger with hay, and tying down the giant cross that loomed over them all like a bad omen.
But of course he'd been spotted, roped in by Mrs. Danbury's lipstick-smeared toothy smile, and led back to the very place he couldn't seem to get away from.
So now he stood, hands on his hips, looking down at the cross laid out before him. For a moment, he imagined what it might feel like to destroy it, to watch it crack under his knuckles. It was such a violent, unexpected thought that he had to physically take a step back. And then another.
And then he was backing up right into another body. Immediately he turned, cheeks ruddy with embarrassment, to apologize. "Pardon," he said, dipping his head. When he looked up again, he'd slipped back into his well-worn mask, a boyish, if not sheepish, grin curling at the corners of his mouth. "Hey, actually, y'think you could help me with somethin' real quick?"
