Right behind you. [Apart from the clothes of his back, he had nothing of value on him when the bus was ambushed. Wrench doesn't look for anything now. He falls into step behind his partner as Numbers moves for the door. After so many years, it still seems as familiar to him as the back of his own hand. How much time has he spent looking up over the top of Grady's impeccably-coiffed hair? Or adjusting his gait so he doesn't step on the back of the man's heels with every stride? It's all so familiar that it makes him shudder involuntarily. How can anyone just disappear for five years, leave such a gaping hole, and come back as if he's been frozen in time?
The music swells outside of the room. Wrench doesn't notice, of course, but he finds himself pulled in that direction as if by some unseen force. The home looks normal, almost cookie-cutter in its particular blandness. It's exactly what he thinks of when he imagines the noun: house. A place to make one's life around. Except that it's been a long time since he's thought of any particular space by that definition. Wrench could almost imagine a family living here, but the picture belongs more to a storybook. It's an artificially-constructed sort of reality that he's learned to scoff at.
The kitchen is bright with the sunlight that streams in, and he frowns at its impeccable presentation. It looks almost untouched, save for a bundle that seems placed for them line an offering. He tugs Numbers' sleeve and regards it suspiciously.]
no subject
The music swells outside of the room. Wrench doesn't notice, of course, but he finds himself pulled in that direction as if by some unseen force. The home looks normal, almost cookie-cutter in its particular blandness. It's exactly what he thinks of when he imagines the noun: house. A place to make one's life around. Except that it's been a long time since he's thought of any particular space by that definition. Wrench could almost imagine a family living here, but the picture belongs more to a storybook. It's an artificially-constructed sort of reality that he's learned to scoff at.
The kitchen is bright with the sunlight that streams in, and he frowns at its impeccable presentation. It looks almost untouched, save for a bundle that seems placed for them line an offering. He tugs Numbers' sleeve and regards it suspiciously.]