JACK
Like a raindrop into a lake that creates ripples far larger than that which had caused them, Flora's thoughts are a trigger for Jack's own mind. Of course he has thoughts of his own - and many of them - but they are so interlaced with all that he's built, it's simply easier to use Flora as a springboard to get started. And so Torchline - home, for both of them - blooms to life, turning one of those crackling filaments a shade of deepest ochre and setting it to sparking, until the islands they both know bloom out around them, like a watercolour.
For Jack it's the same smell of the docks, the cry of the hels, the taste of sweet liquor. But it's danger, too; blood and darkness and an iron grip; it's the world he'd cupped in the palm of his hand for so long before the barrier had fallen and had taken his small patch of territory with it.
And then it fades, the thought setting the rest of the telepathic spiderweb to flinching, picking up on any similar minds within range; picking up on their thoughts about Torchline, until it's an enormous, comprehensive picture that's a far cry from Flora's beginning. The region flushes back into view with intricate details added from the fishmonger fucking in a room two doors down, from a waitress in the corridor who had only visited once and had hated the oppressive heat, from one of the Ark's crew standing outside and daydreaming of home.
"It's a lot," Jack mutters, as if to say he understands if she wants him to drop it.
For Jack it's the same smell of the docks, the cry of the hels, the taste of sweet liquor. But it's danger, too; blood and darkness and an iron grip; it's the world he'd cupped in the palm of his hand for so long before the barrier had fallen and had taken his small patch of territory with it.
And then it fades, the thought setting the rest of the telepathic spiderweb to flinching, picking up on any similar minds within range; picking up on their thoughts about Torchline, until it's an enormous, comprehensive picture that's a far cry from Flora's beginning. The region flushes back into view with intricate details added from the fishmonger fucking in a room two doors down, from a waitress in the corridor who had only visited once and had hated the oppressive heat, from one of the Ark's crew standing outside and daydreaming of home.
"It's a lot," Jack mutters, as if to say he understands if she wants him to drop it.
no more than I was or than I want to be
when you fall on me like night, I wanna kill the lights
when you fall on me like night, I wanna kill the lights
- Secret Telepath
- Functionally Immortal (Forever 35)
- Two small star tattoos beneath his left eye
- Click for The Ark!
