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Cicada Days
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keep running yoshi
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Ben wasn't seeing any folk out on the rough, just in the clippings of his thoughts. So quiet out here a piddly little nor'easter was ringing loud in his ears. It was cool and fresh, moisture against the skin of the face. Alien as fuck, compared to the old Kingman sandblaster. Ben wanted a protective hand on the brow, just to ward off the freak sensation. But he knew better, that hand was staying right on his side. Where he could quickdraw all of the nothing he had as a weapon. Shit. He'd have to remedy that at some point. Even a blunt rock to the head was better than a fist. Though that would imply he intended to...

Hm. More thoughts to try and think in double time to his already brisk march. Whatever the answer was to the question of 'could I?'. He vaguely knew he wasn't going to like it.


But for now, he had nothing.

Save company. Right around the corner of the building he'd almost blustered around, he'd heard the telltale rustling of soles against earth. It had stopped, but too close for comfort. Ben dug his heel in. Stopped himself, just shy of exposing himself by maybe a foot. A hand and a shoulder barely tensed. Like he was out on the diamond again, ready to catch... a bullet? Fucks sake, Fields. Again, all the weapon he had to his name were his words. But he could start casting an eye around for a rock. Make sure he wasn't caught flat footed like he'd been when he'd had Jerry and a knife pacing his way.

A few critical moments of silence.

"It's Ben. I'm friendly." He readily left off the other obvious clause, 'I'm unarmed'. A nonexistent weapon in a bag was probably better collateral than three syllables and a breath of naivety. "Shit. We probably look like dumbasses talking and cowering two inches away from each other." He heard the swivel of a camera. It was right in his fucking ear, as if he had too much oxygen to himself and needed the viewers to siphon off the excess.
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Good Omens · The Library