[Ghosts. Ghosts. She doesn't like ghosts. Her list of fears is short, it starts and ends at 'g'. The dead should stay dead. They shouldn't be given the chance to revisit horrors on the living. They had their chance.
The oppressive silence weighs down on the backs of her hands, the planes of her shoulders, the base of her spine. The air grows thick with it. Makes her antsy, nervous, foolish.
Bruce reaches for the sheet, and a judder of nerves runs through her at the thought of what might be under it. She doesn't want to see, doesn't want to know. Her drive for answers is paling at the thought of dead faces under white sheets. Dead eyes, ever watching.]
You need dead people for a haunting, right?
[Lets call it a moment of insanity, she'd certainly never admit to feeling something very like terror. She steps forward, almost knocking Peter's shoulder as she comes face-to-sheet with one of the ghosts. A split second, then the screwdriver shaft is slipping, cold, between her fingers. The handle solid in her palm. Her fingers close, her hand comes up, elbow bending, weight moving forward, then she lunges forward, her arm out straight, the screwdriver headed for where the ghostly form's neck should be. Her left arm flicks out behind and above her head, a counterbalance, holding the candle clear. Shadows careen wildly across the tunnel walls, the flame flickering, guttering, then going out.]
no subject
The oppressive silence weighs down on the backs of her hands, the planes of her shoulders, the base of her spine. The air grows thick with it. Makes her antsy, nervous, foolish.
Bruce reaches for the sheet, and a judder of nerves runs through her at the thought of what might be under it. She doesn't want to see, doesn't want to know. Her drive for answers is paling at the thought of dead faces under white sheets. Dead eyes, ever watching.]
You need dead people for a haunting, right?
[Lets call it a moment of insanity, she'd certainly never admit to feeling something very like terror. She steps forward, almost knocking Peter's shoulder as she comes face-to-sheet with one of the ghosts. A split second, then the screwdriver shaft is slipping, cold, between her fingers. The handle solid in her palm. Her fingers close, her hand comes up, elbow bending, weight moving forward, then she lunges forward, her arm out straight, the screwdriver headed for where the ghostly form's neck should be. Her left arm flicks out behind and above her head, a counterbalance, holding the candle clear. Shadows careen wildly across the tunnel walls, the flame flickering, guttering, then going out.]