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[irenejng]

GRAINNE —

Truthfully, Grainne hadn’t seen anything. She didn’t tend to ‘notice’ her surroundings when she went to that field unless she was painting them, due to the fact that she came there to escape, not to acknowledge where she was or what she was doing. She could imagine she was anywhere in that spot, and wherever that may have been, there were certainly no black speakers. She shook her head, holding her book against her chest as if she were protecting it somehow. “No, I haven’t seen anything other than shit and mushrooms.” She retorted plainly, though she then realised that she may have come across as defensive. She hoped that she didn’t look like the type that would steal, especially something so menial, but how could she know what the other was thinking? “Do you, uh… need help to find it or something?”

IRENE —

        Irene didn’t have much hope anyway, so the stranger’s reply warranted just minuscule disappointment and a chuckle. Once again, her eyes scanned the vast expanse of the cow field, estimating the futility of her task.

        Her conclusion after jostling around thirty cows: fairly futile.

        At the woman’s offer to help, Irene shook her head. Given the smells and grimaces she endured on her way here, roping someone else into this affair seemed essentially immoral. Especially when they were doing something else that was clearly much more entertaining.

        “I’m wonderin’ if I should just forget about it. I've violated enough cows today.”

[irenejng]

RIVER —

The look on the girl’s face made River’s face scrunch into a semi-frown, her brows furrowed in sympathy of that familiar feeling. Losing food you really liked? One of the worst feelings in the world. Well, maybe not the worst. She’d certainly gone through enough misery to know worse. But in terms of little things, every day things, dropping an enjoyable food was heartbreaking.

With a small chuckle and sympathetic smile, River shrugged, “If I could, I definitely would. Alas, I’m not a magician, nor am I a time traveller that could help you go back in time and stop that from happening.” It was nice, joking around with a stranger. Most people nowadays were so anti-people since a potential copycat-killer had come back to town. Looked at you funny if you even got a little in their space. She understood. She was like that regardless of the threat of a serial killer or not. But just to smile for a bit with someone she hadn’t met before without being seen as a threat was nice. 

With an understanding nod, River let out another small chuckle at the woman’s words. “I get it. There’s a lot to think about nowadays,” she replied. “But I’m glad I… uh, somewhat helped? I can’t work on an empty stomach either. Makes me hangry, and in no way productive when I get like that.” 

IRENE —

        Sympathy pooled into the stranger’s expression, and having that sort of emotion directed at Irene usually makes her a little uncomfortable, but could anyone really stay so icy in the face of such tragedy? Food’s ephemeral enough. No need for gravity to shorten that lifespan.

        It’s not often Irene meets someone she doesn’t know in Hollowick, although she can’t say she also looked entirely unfamiliar. Irene’s curiosity was roused, and was followed by a pang of vague remembrance. Given recent events, she’s been on higher alert about improving her incomplete Hollowick... grapevine. Although she’s not motivated to let everyone else in town know her name and number, it helps to know your neighbors. Of course, the collateral is the inevitable emotional reverberation after tragedy strikes, when the flow of obituaries and tears that follow prove just how closely tangled everyone in town is to each other.

        But no matter. This woman seemed charming enough so far, and Irene’s curiosity was already piqued.

        “That’d be a brassy ask from me anyway. No one should tend to my insolence... I’m Irene, by the way. What’d you have for lunch? I’d like to be inspired.”

[irenejng]

GRAINNE —

Growing up part of a small village community meant two things: if you didn’t show up to community events your family would be gossiped about to no end, and you were no stranger to farm animals. Sheep frequented the country roads more than people did, and if you hadn’t been attacked by a chicken at least once, could you really call yourself a country girl?

What all of that meant was that Grainne was comfortable in the company of cows. There was a spot in one of the local fields she often found herself in, either with her easel if she was feeling creative or a book if she needed inspiration, and if she could navigate her way around the cow pats and bring a cosy enough picnic blanket, it was like her little safe haven. The cows left her to her own business generally, and more importantly, she rarely saw another person. Perfect conditions for needing to reset.

Swallowed up by the pages she was reading, Grainne was none the wiser that she had company in the field. The sound of a woman’s voice took her out of her book immediately, and in fact scared her quite significantly. She jumped, almost ready to throw the book at the intruder, but when her gaze settled on Irene it calmed her a little. It was still odd, but better than the goddamn Reaper showing up. “Holy shit, I nearly just knocked you out with this fucking book.” Grainne laughed through a relieved sigh, brushing back her hair as she looked up at the woman. “What are you doing?”

IRENE —

        Irene almost jumped when the woman did, especially at the threat of a concussion. The cows seemed provoked for once too, rustling around a bit more energetically for a few seconds. Could she blame this woman? Irene was the intruder after all, stamping dirty urbanization all over this beautiful field with her lost speaker and her London wear, which was slowly getting stained at the hem of her trousers from the dark, lush grass around her ankles that grew inches long. When the woman swore, she grinned, the crass language somehow coloring the scene even more fascinatingly. 

        “Sorry ‘bout that. Wouldn’t blame you if you actually tossed that at me! ’m lookin’ for my speaker. Small, black, shiny...” Irene’s eyes scanned their immediate surroundings with slight dismay, already pessimistic at the odds. “... have you seen it?”

[irenejng]

Pulp Fiction (1994)

[irenejng]

@jihasbest

        “Yes, mum, I’m here right now. Don’t worry. Mhm. Yep... mum.”

        Irene sighed and leaned her head back while removing her glasses. One foot had exited the vehicle before her phone rang and she strongly regretted picking up, as her mother’s interruption left her in her parked car for... now six minutes counting. She opted for laying there, eyes closed, allowing herself a light slumber while her mother aggressively repeated her instructions for etiquette, tossing out more little “mhm”s in response. Finally, her mother sighed and concluded the call, not even giving Irene a chance to say goodbye herself. She chuckled, always entertained by her mother’s brusque conduct.

        Taking care of the clothed gift under her arm, she exited her car. As she headed up the stairs of the house she’s known for years, a knot of anticipation cemented itself in her stomach, understanding that much has changed. The Chilterns seem to be exponentially subsumed into the heartbeat of the town, and the side effects are astronomical... not excluding Jiha’s mental health. She’d greeted Jiha at the grocery store or around town, but they never had time for a long conversation. These brief encounters have always been polite but fairly impersonal, and Irene has always genuinely liked the woman since she was a kid. So this encounter was inevitable — maybe not with candles and wine, but her mother had a master plan, apparently.

        Finally at the doorstep of Jiha’s lovely family home, Irene rang the doorbell.

[irenejng]

@lorenmartinez​

        There’s two things Irene can appreciate tonight — some stellar company, and the Greek place just a block from her flat.

        Loren would offer a crisp reminder of the city and quality conversation, both of which Irene will greedily consume. The journalist was back to follow the Reaper story, which Irene didn’t find to be an entirely positive discovery. However, if anyone should be tasked to transform this shitefest into a publishable narrative, it should be Loren. There should be a sober agent among the hitchhiking crackpots that turn this town’s grief into a laughingstock.

        Irene understood it professionally, so she wouldn’t badmouth the goal. However, she’s also all too familiar with the way that tragedies ricochet within the confines of this town. If Loren brings up the murders, Irene’s not exactly sure how she’d answer. Maybe a Moscow Mule or two will pave the way! Not that booze wasn’t a part of the plan in the first place.

        Speaking of which.

        Catching a glimpse of the cocktail menu on the table, Irene scanned the document, suddenly feeling hungry.

[irenejng]

RIVER​ —

River had clocked the woman idly eating food from the moment she set foot on the park’s walking path. Of course, she didn’t get anywhere quickly nowadays with a stick, but it did allow her to watch the woman pop each bit of – what was that, ice? – into her mouth and savour each bite. It was a curious sight to watch – River had never gained that much joy out of eating ice before, but perhaps this was a special, different type of ice? Or maybe, because it was a relatively warm day, that the cold was particularly refreshing. 

She seemed to be lost in as much thought as the woman on the bench was, because as the plate slid off her lap and pulled her into reality again, it had the same affect on River as it hit the ground. River tried to speed up a little, as if there was much she could do to help, but slowed down almost instantly when she realised this, reaching the bench as the woman let out an audible sigh at her misfortune.

“That’s… pretty disappointing,” River spoke, empathy clear in her tone as she made her way closer to the lady. “I would offer to help but, uh…” She motioned to her walking stick, “can’t really bend down much these days.” She shot the woman a crooked smile. What was she doing? She probably looked like she’d just approached her to judge her loss of food. She should have just left it. But she’d already opened her mouth, and had to commit now. “Are you okay? It’s like you were in a trance.” 

IRENE —

        Irene’s neck jerked up from its resting position at the sound of a voice. What was disappointing? She looked at the stranger newly situated in her bubble, and briefly glanced at their walking stick. Then, she finally realized that her lap was lighter than she’d like, and her gaze ventured down to the colorful, dripping mess that she was enjoying just moments ago.

        Well. Damn.

        “Oh, I mean... optimal help would be to revive it completely, but that’s a bratty thought on my part, innit? Bit physics-defying. Don’t worry about it.”

        Flashing her version of a friendly smile, which tends to translate into a smirk, Irene reached down and quickly dumped the mess back onto her plate with her plastic fork. After tossing it in the bin a few feet from her seat, she returned to her seat. “A trance? Yeah, I just had a thought. Like an intense one, you know? Just work. Speaking of which, thanks for rousing me. Now I’ve got enough time to get more food before I have to head back and I... can’t go hungry.”

[irenejng]

Patterns are powerful, and you can terrify people by disrupting them.

Robert Greene, The 48 Laws of Power (via intj-dictator)

[irenejng]

        Popping more frozen honeydew and ice into her mouth and basking in the sugary, chilly comfort of the condensed milk that coated her plate of fruit, Irene leaned back on the park bench, silently thanking the nice woman on 1937 Cheshire Road for her generous contribution to Hollowick — Korean shaved ice. She didn’t think she would see this delight within the borders of her hometown. Certainly beats a stodgy bowl of porridge.

        Suddenly, she jolted up, not realizing in the moment that her paper plate had slid off her lap and onto the ground. Moments like this were common, when she needed to seize some crucial thought that crossed her.

        Well, she seized it. Irene’s eyes finally drifted to the concrete where her lunch transformed into a visually unappetizing splat. She was much more disappointed than she seemed, and only expressed her discontent with a sigh.

[irenejng]

@gramaro​

        Irene walked through these fields just hours ago, when all there was to see was dark green grass. Now, she’s faced with a barricade of cows so massive that she considered calling her entire mission a lost cause.

        ... No. That’s wasteful. Irene ignored her own exasperation and gently pressed her left arm against the cow right in front of her. Was it this easy? The cow slightly gave way but seemed mainly clueless to her efforts. Irene glared on and ahead to the area that she suspected contained her beloved black Bluetooth speaker... and then back at the barrier of cattle.

        So be it. Careful so as to not alarm a giant mass of prey animals, Irene assessed the labyrinth of bovine bodies before her before snaking her way through. All while feeling a chill on her skin from the anticipation of stepping in cow shit.

        There seemed to be a strangely shaped space among the cows, and Irene headed there for both curiosity and leg room. After jostling her way over, she was slightly stunned by the sight of the back of a brunette head. Less so of the fact that there was another human on site, but that they blended into their surroundings so seamlessly — so picturesque it was almost eerie.

        But Irene’s on a mission, so she didn’t hesitate to pipe up. “Hello, afternoon. Don’t wanna interrupt, but do you have a second?”

[irenejng]

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[irenejng]

“People don’t understand the word ruthless. They think it means ‘mean.’ It’s not about being mean. It’s about seeing the bright, clear line that leads from A to B. The line that goes from motive to means. Beginning to end. It’s about seeing that bright, clear line and not caring about anything but the beautiful fact that you can see the solution. Not caring about anything else but the perfection of it.”

- Marco, Book #30: The Reunion, pg. 71 (by K.A. Applegate)

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Fox news just @ me next time

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