[ The hand is one he wants to reach for, because he's seen things that beckoned him to reach for them only for him to recoil in horror at the last second. No one wants to take hold of a dead, rotting hand, but that's what the Dark Place has made him see. Well, one of many things he's been forced to see. He knows the patterns covering the hand he's reaching for; it's Jesse's guide. It's Polaris. His heart has lodged itself in his throat, but a part of him doesn't dare hope for the impossible.
Something in his coat pocket rustles as he crawls forward: papers, shoved in unceremoniously. Some of them have scribbles on them while others are blank. But Alan's not thinking about that right now.
He finally reaches the door and he presses first his fingers then his entire palm against the wooden surface. ]
She's there, isn't she? On the other side of the door. I- I just want to talk to her. Somehow.
[ He glances down when he hears the sound of metal hitting the floor and rolling. He feels it hit his leg, and he squints to look at it. A rush of breath leaves him all at once as he picks up the his and hers charm and holds it carefully but tightly in his hand. ]
Jesse.
[ Not knowing that Jesse's doing the same thing on her side of the door, Alan leans his head against his side of it. ]
What is she doing here? No, I know what she's doing. Why she's here. I- God, this isn't going to work, but maybe... maybe if I just try it.
[ A pencil is in his coat pocket as well, even though he doesn't remember placing one there. He plucks out one of the folded up papers and after taking a moment to remember something from what feels like a lifetime ago, he scrawls on it hurriedly, but not to the point that it's illegible. ]
A desperate man oftentimes does desperate things.
Let's not find out just how desperate I can get.
A lake can sometimes be an ocean.
Not everyone knows how to swim.
Writing is the key.
Art is the key.
Knowing who your enemies are is half the battle.
Everyone needs a hero sometimes.
[ If his hunch is wrong, then what he's written won't make any sense at all, but if he's right, then it should get the result he's been hoping for. But hope doesn't carry a lot of weight down here, and luck is a completely nonexistent concept. Still, Alan feels just the smallest bit of hope as he slides the piece of paper beneath the door and holds his breath.
The paper may just get shoved right back beneath the door. It's a fool's errand and a fool's hope, but he watches and waits for something, anything, to happen. ]
no subject
Something in his coat pocket rustles as he crawls forward: papers, shoved in unceremoniously. Some of them have scribbles on them while others are blank. But Alan's not thinking about that right now.
He finally reaches the door and he presses first his fingers then his entire palm against the wooden surface. ]
She's there, isn't she? On the other side of the door. I- I just want to talk to her. Somehow.
[ He glances down when he hears the sound of metal hitting the floor and rolling. He feels it hit his leg, and he squints to look at it. A rush of breath leaves him all at once as he picks up the his and hers charm and holds it carefully but tightly in his hand. ]
Jesse.
[ Not knowing that Jesse's doing the same thing on her side of the door, Alan leans his head against his side of it. ]
What is she doing here? No, I know what she's doing. Why she's here. I- God, this isn't going to work, but maybe... maybe if I just try it.
[ A pencil is in his coat pocket as well, even though he doesn't remember placing one there. He plucks out one of the folded up papers and after taking a moment to remember something from what feels like a lifetime ago, he scrawls on it hurriedly, but not to the point that it's illegible. ]
[ If his hunch is wrong, then what he's written won't make any sense at all, but if he's right, then it should get the result he's been hoping for. But hope doesn't carry a lot of weight down here, and luck is a completely nonexistent concept. Still, Alan feels just the smallest bit of hope as he slides the piece of paper beneath the door and holds his breath.
The paper may just get shoved right back beneath the door. It's a fool's errand and a fool's hope, but he watches and waits for something, anything, to happen. ]