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Act One, XI: x marks the spot
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Eventually the best part of her high starts to wear off. Leaving her in this awkward in-between state where her mouth is moving quicker than her brain and the giddy excited feeling is starting to fade. She's still calmer than she was earlier but anxiety gnaws at the edges of her awareness.
Moe hovers by John B, afraid to go too far. He's fragile right now. She can see it, she can feel it as if it's her own emotion. How could she not? He's her brother, an extension of herself.
For Bird, the envelope reads. It throbs in her chest like another heartbeat. The possibility that John B could have been right all along. Maybe Big John really has been out there, somewhere. She lets herself dream of it for a moment.
It would mean the end of running wild at the Chateau but there are always other ways to get into trouble. Big John back; rigging up fishing rods on the HMS Pogue, grilling steaks for them on the bonfire, sleeping in even longer than his son and his teenage friends, locking himself in his office and pouring over papers for hours on end. It would be nice in some ways. In other ways it would not.
Maybe it would be different. Maybe all the time away would erase the difficulties and the tension. Maybe it wouldn't matter. She hopes, for John B's sake.
"That bread had mould on it three days ago." Pope says to JJ as he brings another lantern into the room, setting it down on the table.
"I'll just pull off the bad parts." JJ replies, singularly focused on spreading peanut butter over excessively mouldy bread in the kitchen, "Plus, mould is good for you. It's just a natural organism."
Moe and Kiara exchange tired looks over John B's head.
"JJ. C'mere."
"Shit." The knife he's using clatters to the counter, "Yeah, yeah. Comin'."
