I'm in the mood for continuing yesterday's story at the moment. And I can work the prompt it swiftly and naturally!
Condemned "It's condemned," said Jean. "Going up there would be suicidal." "More so than standing outside in this storm?" "Definitely," said Jean. "Going up there is certain death." "And I suppose the storm is only uncertain death." MacArthur shrugged. "Death's come for me often enough and missed that I'm willing to tempt it again I guess." Lightning struck somewhere outside the window and there was a hissing sound that was covered up by the crack of thunder two seconds later. MacArthur pulled his raincoat about his chest and Jean noticed suddenly that it was missing all its buttons. Then he yanked open the back door and left. The door flapped for a moment, letting cold rain spray into the kitchen, and then slammed hard enough to rattle the china cups next to the kettle. "Julian," said Jean, turning back to the cupboard. She opened it and pulled out a jar of instant coffee. "He'll be going up to the barn. Go after him." "But it's wet out there!" Jean picked up the kettle, full of freshly boiled water, and looked Julian straight in the eyes. "Would you rather be wet in here?" she asked. Julian held her gaze momentarily and then his eyes dropped to her hand and the kettle. "No," he said. "No, wet outside is just fine." "I'm glad you feel that way," said Jean. "Get up there after him. He might look like a cripple but you're to take no chances." As Julian left, managing to close the back door without letting the storm slam it shut, she looked at Martin and then at Philip, the other man from the tractors. "This had better not mean trouble," she said. She sounded grimly determined. "I'm not having some random stranger turn up and be a problem. This isn't a detective novel."
Julian struggled up the side of the Ridge. The path was well trodden but it was still rocks embedded in mud and it was slippery underfoot and getting worse. The rain also sought it out as an impromptu channel to flow down from the top of the hill, so it was already almost like wading. He looked up, unable to keep his face up because the storm was beating directly into it, but there was no sign of MacArthur. The world ended in a grey fog a couple of metres in front of him. He sighed and tried to go faster. At the house, sheltering under the eaves and near a window, MacArthur had watched him emerge and head uphill with interest. Jean's reaction to the barn had been expected, but sending someone out to check if he was going there was all the confirmation he needed that the barn was where he wanted to be. When it was free of people, of course.
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I'm in the mood for continuing yesterday's story at the moment. And I can work the prompt it swiftly and naturally!
Condemned
"It's condemned," said Jean. "Going up there would be suicidal."
"More so than standing outside in this storm?"
"Definitely," said Jean. "Going up there is certain death."
"And I suppose the storm is only uncertain death." MacArthur shrugged. "Death's come for me often enough and missed that I'm willing to tempt it again I guess." Lightning struck somewhere outside the window and there was a hissing sound that was covered up by the crack of thunder two seconds later. MacArthur pulled his raincoat about his chest and Jean noticed suddenly that it was missing all its buttons. Then he yanked open the back door and left. The door flapped for a moment, letting cold rain spray into the kitchen, and then slammed hard enough to rattle the china cups next to the kettle.
"Julian," said Jean, turning back to the cupboard. She opened it and pulled out a jar of instant coffee. "He'll be going up to the barn. Go after him."
"But it's wet out there!"
Jean picked up the kettle, full of freshly boiled water, and looked Julian straight in the eyes. "Would you rather be wet in here?" she asked. Julian held her gaze momentarily and then his eyes dropped to her hand and the kettle. "No," he said. "No, wet outside is just fine."
"I'm glad you feel that way," said Jean. "Get up there after him. He might look like a cripple but you're to take no chances."
As Julian left, managing to close the back door without letting the storm slam it shut, she looked at Martin and then at Philip, the other man from the tractors. "This had better not mean trouble," she said. She sounded grimly determined. "I'm not having some random stranger turn up and be a problem. This isn't a detective novel."
Julian struggled up the side of the Ridge. The path was well trodden but it was still rocks embedded in mud and it was slippery underfoot and getting worse. The rain also sought it out as an impromptu channel to flow down from the top of the hill, so it was already almost like wading. He looked up, unable to keep his face up because the storm was beating directly into it, but there was no sign of MacArthur. The world ended in a grey fog a couple of metres in front of him. He sighed and tried to go faster.
At the house, sheltering under the eaves and near a window, MacArthur had watched him emerge and head uphill with interest. Jean's reaction to the barn had been expected, but sending someone out to check if he was going there was all the confirmation he needed that the barn was where he wanted to be. When it was free of people, of course.
Greg - ah, is it not a detective novel though? I suspect it is :)
Ah, clever Mac. Was not expecting him there. This is highly enjoyable stuff, by the way.
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