[Some part of Prior can tell it's supposed to be comforting: a steady voice guiding him through the wilds of his own mind. But it doesn't work, doesn't and won't while he's not trapped in insanity but an actual living nightmare. What did he do today?]
I didn't just get back from school John, for pity's sake. I'm here, alone in the... the dark... in the... [A scream that could be Prior's voice but horribly twisted cuts off his words.]
[ dear god. he's good neither at a) this sort of thing, b) being helpless to help and stuck a sprint through a storm away from that being any different. and then Prior's scream, some wretched splintered thing, and John's not perching anymore.
he's not leaving either, standing suspended, the rain a barely-there barrier but one he doesn't know whether or not to breach. ]
You were warned of the consequences and see what has come to pass. America falls. I I I I spread my wings across Olympia now. Be not complacent, Prophet, your work begins. And not before time.
[There's a gasp and a whimper after this but it's all too human.]
[ there's a prolonged, stunned quiet even after it's clear that Prior's there - either still there or returned, God knows John doesn't have a clue. but he can't speak, not straight away. and when he can, after a swallowed breath or two, it's - ]
It was a voice. [Stating the obvious, Prior, but he sounds thoroughly shaken. It came from him somehow.] Do you think that's what people mean by speaking in tongues?
That's something, I guess. [His voice still sounds on the edge of cracking - like he's on the edge of cracking up.] So anyway, I'm a prophet... while we're on the subject of crazy.
[ and because he can't work out what a normal reaction to this ought to be, isn't sure he's ready yet to learn more immediately, at least until he's had time to process the magnitude of the past few moments: ]
Listen, do you need company?
[ after... that. the urgency seems to have bled away somehow, but that doesn't mean the aftermath's pleasant. ]
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I didn't just get back from school John, for pity's sake. I'm here, alone in the... the dark... in the... [A scream that could be Prior's voice but horribly twisted cuts off his words.]
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he's not leaving either, standing suspended, the rain a barely-there barrier but one he doesn't know whether or not to breach. ]
Prior!
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In the dark, in the dark, the recording Angel opens its hundred eyes, and cracks the spine on the book
the book
the book
the book.
You forget yourself, Prophet but we do not forget you.
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he is, finally, left speechless at the end of the line. ]
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[There's a gasp and a whimper after this but it's all too human.]
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Fuck.
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Not this time.
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—So much for a voice in your head.
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[ this is crazy, it's absolutely mental. but Prior? well. if Prior's got voices in his head, John's heard them now. ]
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[ and because he can't work out what a normal reaction to this ought to be, isn't sure he's ready yet to learn more immediately, at least until he's had time to process the magnitude of the past few moments: ]
Listen, do you need company?
[ after... that. the urgency seems to have bled away somehow, but that doesn't mean the aftermath's pleasant. ]
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Right. Well, your call. I can hang fire if you need time to sort yourself out.
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Alright. I'm going to ring off while I brave the downpour. If I'm not there in twenty minutes, it's probably time to write the first space obituary.
[ he'll have been eaten by a dragon. or an angel. or an angel riding a dragon. ]