[ Yeah, this is weird. Definitely weird. And Jim Hopper's seen weird, believe him - a living, breathing gate to an alternate dimension? Kinda takes the cake. But waking up on some boat to a town of endless darkness? Weird, definitely, but it's more than that, it's... confounding.
That's what Jim is, coming to with his eyes on the ceiling of a tiny boat cabin (it gives Jim chills, metallic sounds of the ship scratching at buried memories) - confused, lost, and no small amount of suspicious. It's too tactile to be a dream or a nightmare, and too strange to be reality. The cabin, the boat, the dock, that circling red light of the lighthouse, watching sentry like a demonic statue some distance away. All of it.
And this town? It's not from any sacred book Jim's ever heard of.
As he wanders the area around the dock, searching the faces of the other unlucky arrivals, Jim catches sight of a silhouette that seems more familiar than anything else he's seen tonight. His footsteps quicken as he approaches, hand on the shoulder of a sailor outfit-clad kid to forcefully turn him around.
Jim's brows furrow and he shakes his head, mouth twitching.
No. No, no. ]
Harrington.
[ A name Jim might know better from reading crime scene reports than formal introductions. He frowns, halfway shaking his head before he can stop himself, hand tightening on Harrington's shoulder in a way that betrays the ache in knowing that this kid is here because he's dead too.
His voice is soft when he continues: ] What're you doing here?
land, ho; or, how hopper learned to love the sight of a hawkins jock
That's what Jim is, coming to with his eyes on the ceiling of a tiny boat cabin (it gives Jim chills, metallic sounds of the ship scratching at buried memories) - confused, lost, and no small amount of suspicious. It's too tactile to be a dream or a nightmare, and too strange to be reality. The cabin, the boat, the dock, that circling red light of the lighthouse, watching sentry like a demonic statue some distance away. All of it.
And this town? It's not from any sacred book Jim's ever heard of.
As he wanders the area around the dock, searching the faces of the other unlucky arrivals, Jim catches sight of a silhouette that seems more familiar than anything else he's seen tonight. His footsteps quicken as he approaches, hand on the shoulder of a sailor outfit-clad kid to forcefully turn him around.
Jim's brows furrow and he shakes his head, mouth twitching.
No. No, no. ]
Harrington.
[ A name Jim might know better from reading crime scene reports than formal introductions. He frowns, halfway shaking his head before he can stop himself, hand tightening on Harrington's shoulder in a way that betrays the ache in knowing that this kid is here because he's dead too.
His voice is soft when he continues: ] What're you doing here?