[ claire spends so much of her day confronting her own mistakes regarding the park that they're, shockingly, not what keep her up at night. still working with the masrani corporation and dealing with the media means answering a lot of questions, constantly, about what went wrong where, how they handled it, how they'll deal with it moving forward. so often she has to just put on that smile, brush it all under the rug with that perfect, practiced pr โ all the right words, the best soundbites, the easiest solutions.
it's only times like yesterday, when questions are a little more personal, that it's harder to run from her own guilt.
god, what a mess.
fortunately (or otherwise) for her, it's not the shame and regret that keeps her up at night.
it's usually the former park's man-made monsters.
the bedside light is welcome, if enough to make her wince at first. her eyes adjust, letting her see owen a whole lot more clearly. there's something comforting about his face, about waking up to having him there, and just a hint of her tension slides away without her realizing it. ]
Justโ
[ she pauses, taking another breath as she looks down at the sheets. ]
no subject
it's only times like yesterday, when questions are a little more personal, that it's harder to run from her own guilt.
god, what a mess.
fortunately (or otherwise) for her, it's not the shame and regret that keeps her up at night.
it's usually the former park's man-made monsters.
the bedside light is welcome, if enough to make her wince at first. her eyes adjust, letting her see owen a whole lot more clearly. there's something comforting about his face, about waking up to having him there, and just a hint of her tension slides away without her realizing it. ]
Justโ
[ she pauses, taking another breath as she looks down at the sheets. ]
Teeth, Owen. A lot of teeth.
[ and death. and blood. all of it. ]