Ellie doesn’t reply right away, and Abby finds that they’ve fallen back into that same, old rut of not wanting to say anything more to each other, but not being able to leave just yet. Surprise surprise: she still hates it. The air between them gets thick.
So she’s noticeably surprised when Ellie actually… relents.
Saying nothing, she cranes her neck to watch her page through the book. It’s encased in grubby leather, with a well worn spine. She can imagine Ellie creasing it in earnest to make the page lie flat, and then while she’s looking, Joel’s fucking eyeless face jumps out of a new page at her; she stops paying attention for a numb and buzzing moment.
She goes for the tail end words first when she looks back, absorbs them with what is, hopefully, a neutral expression even though this has swiftly become intimidating and deeply unnerving. Ellie’s fucking pocket sketchbook of ghosts; cool. Well, she asked. She makes herself keep looking.
A lot of her. A lot of moths.
“This is fucked up,” is her verdict, gaze flicking back up to Ellie.
no subject
So she’s noticeably surprised when Ellie actually… relents.
Saying nothing, she cranes her neck to watch her page through the book. It’s encased in grubby leather, with a well worn spine. She can imagine Ellie creasing it in earnest to make the page lie flat, and then while she’s looking, Joel’s fucking eyeless face jumps out of a new page at her; she stops paying attention for a numb and buzzing moment.
She goes for the tail end words first when she looks back, absorbs them with what is, hopefully, a neutral expression even though this has swiftly become intimidating and deeply unnerving. Ellie’s fucking pocket sketchbook of ghosts; cool. Well, she asked. She makes herself keep looking.
A lot of her. A lot of moths.
“This is fucked up,” is her verdict, gaze flicking back up to Ellie.