[ She doubts he would tell her even if she asked what happened to him in the last loop. There was no way to know if Alan was still there with Scratch in control. There was no answer from Polaris when Jesse asked her to reach out. Just a feed of Darkness and a chalked looking face. The Dark Presence wearing Alan's face, but it wasn't Alan. She knows Alan--and that expression and temperament wasn't him.
It was Scratch. Different from when he killed her in their first loop. Animal, feral even. Not smooth and calculating. Is this a different kind of Scratch now? Has he changed because Alan's gone deeper?
« This feeling is why he crumbled that page up. The one he shoved down into his bag. The first loop, the first time around. If I feel this way about seeing him ... then it must be so much worse for Alan. He's had to read it, edit it, change it. See something that looks like him kill me. I'm not going to ever bring it up to him again. I still have that page at the Motel. Just in case he ever needs it for whatever reason. »
Her thoughts come to a hault the moment he begins talking. It's almost like the endless parade of words, but different and controlled. He's painting a picture of the Dark Place for her. She would respond, but, he's kissing her again and she tries to keep up with their erratic pacing and when he stops to talk.
Then, he asks her his last question.
What a loaded question it is.
She gently lowers herself to the ground. Her hands move from his face to his shoulders. Anchoring him, trying to help him focus on just her. This answer is so complicated and has to be given the right way or it won't make a difference. ]
You're Alan Wake. Best selling novelsit and a parautalitarian--like me. You're a master wordsmith and the Champion of Light--using both to fight the nightmares we've never seen. Ones we haven't because you've stopped them every time. [ « There's something else. Poor personal. » ] You're a bit of an asshole, but you care. You care so much that you won't take the easy way home in case those nightmares follow you.
But, even then... [ She glances down for a moment and swallows the lump in her throat. He's the one good with words. Not her. She can barely trust most people.
Her hands gently curl into the worn tweed jacket. The one she knows him from. ] You're Alan Wake: the man I love. Not as the Director, or generator for an alien resonance... but me. The not so ordinary girl from Ordinary.
[ She offers him a small vulnerable smile. That might not be the answer wanted or the one he needed. ]
no subject
It was Scratch. Different from when he killed her in their first loop. Animal, feral even. Not smooth and calculating. Is this a different kind of Scratch now? Has he changed because Alan's gone deeper?
« This feeling is why he crumbled that page up. The one he shoved down into his bag. The first loop, the first time around. If I feel this way about seeing him ... then it must be so much worse for Alan. He's had to read it, edit it, change it. See something that looks like him kill me. I'm not going to ever bring it up to him again. I still have that page at the Motel. Just in case he ever needs it for whatever reason. »
Her thoughts come to a hault the moment he begins talking. It's almost like the endless parade of words, but different and controlled. He's painting a picture of the Dark Place for her. She would respond, but, he's kissing her again and she tries to keep up with their erratic pacing and when he stops to talk.
Then, he asks her his last question.
What a loaded question it is.
She gently lowers herself to the ground. Her hands move from his face to his shoulders. Anchoring him, trying to help him focus on just her. This answer is so complicated and has to be given the right way or it won't make a difference. ]
You're Alan Wake. Best selling novelsit and a parautalitarian--like me. You're a master wordsmith and the Champion of Light--using both to fight the nightmares we've never seen. Ones we haven't because you've stopped them every time. [ « There's something else. Poor personal. » ] You're a bit of an asshole, but you care. You care so much that you won't take the easy way home in case those nightmares follow you.
But, even then... [ She glances down for a moment and swallows the lump in her throat. He's the one good with words. Not her. She can barely trust most people.
Her hands gently curl into the worn tweed jacket. The one she knows him from. ] You're Alan Wake: the man I love. Not as the Director, or generator for an alien resonance... but me. The not so ordinary girl from Ordinary.
[ She offers him a small vulnerable smile. That might not be the answer wanted or the one he needed. ]