A.Journal

Checks

312 checks

Medium

A shade of jealousy.

Medium

Visual only. No touching.

Medium

Oh yeah. Mentally snapshot this. He's impressed.

Medium

No irony here. No dress rehearsal either.

Medium

None of that sounded real. It was a scene from fiction, from an espionage novel.

Medium

A laser beam of suspicion.

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A shift in his tone. Barely disguised concern.

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The way he pronounces the name tells you there's no love lost there.

Medium

In times of uncertainty people naturally gather in large groups, perceiving safety in numbers. This behaviour is widely observed even when the opposite is true.

Medium

His hands have been wedged in his hoodie pockets since you approached.

Medium

Here it comes, your favourite part. A vaguely stern woman is about to choreograph you.

Medium

Still vibrating a little from the adrenaline and the death whistle, Ramses, too, slowly comes back into himself.

Medium

One among their number turns to look at you, his technicolour robe billowing behind. He wears a small, neat moustache, as well as a large pair of headphones.

Medium

Something tells you that their teeth are yellowed with decay.

Medium

But you get an impression of the room. A vibration. Somewhere between crime scene and radioactive accident.

Medium

Her intonation is deliberate, forced. Direct to camera, gun just off-screen.

Medium

A shadow passes over her face. In the darkness, her pupils momentarily dilate.

Medium

You glean she is... largely unimpressed.

Medium

It's as though you proposed something unseemly at the dinner table.

Medium

A look of worry, like she's just broken an agreement.

Medium

Nothing fake about her reaction.

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Gulp. Dry mouth. A skeleton of fear.

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You detect a slight tremor in the hand holding the book she was reading.

Medium

You've heard him talk, you know his arrogant, fast-talking manners -- he's faking the stutter as part of the roleplay.

Medium

The faces. 'Strange cousins' to Portofiran in more ways than one.

Medium

He doesn't try to hide the disappointment on his face.

Medium

Not dying. At least, not right here and now.

Medium

Genuinely upset.

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Leather jacket, moustache and military cut. A face that could fluctuate wildly between innocence and depravity depending on the setting.

Medium

A cool, dry air seems to emanate from the phone line.

Medium

Continue, he's saying.

Medium

Nothing facetious in his tone there.

Medium

No judgment -- only the curiosity of a navigator asking another about her compass.

Medium

Referring to your obvious lie.

Medium

He's not a puzzle. He's a lever.

Medium

The posture remains yet the gravity in the air thickens.

Medium

No playful jab, no implied wink. He doesn't know you met her.

Medium

No attempt at deception here.

Medium

There's no threat behind his words. He's simply describing the objective state of things.

Medium

He pruned the conversation forcefully, artificially. There is more.

Medium

All pretense drops. The red glints in his lenses.

Medium

His rising anger gone in an instant, like a fuse being tripped.

Medium

Totally bloodthirsty.

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More excited than nervous.

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Medium

She is all of those things and more.

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The seething -- it overrides any and all underlying emotions.

Medium

No hint of a smile with that one.

Medium

Fists clenched, he adopts a strained position against the desk. Everything under his skin tightens.

Medium

Something childlike and almost innocent enters his tone and gaze.