[ the hope had been that they couldn't possibly ring the entire circumference of this place with a bloody barricade. the hope, apparently, hadn't matched up to the reality. turns out Lysa's daughters are stubborn with their minds set on something, and John's expression turns dark as he's faced with the knowledge that options are now incredibly limited.
fine. fine. he was going to talk to them to start with, wasn't he?
it's no more instructions for Rosalind - though he does throw her a quick, ] The sicker you can look, the better.
[ and then he's scanning the people ahead of them— and stops. there. marching forward, headed for a woman he'd worked quite closely with during the epidemic, John starts selling a story. he knows his audience. he knows the names to drop. he knows just when to glance over Rosalind's way, expression somehow both urgent and apologetic.
he's not the best actor, but he's both well and not well enough known around here to navigate through blindspots. there's some level of camaraderie, of respect built in small pockets with certain people. it happens when you've been through something together.
every time the woman looks like she might be about to turn to call for a second opinion, John steps in with something else. to stress the urgency of the situation. to tell her that he understands things are tough, and that maybe exceptions shouldn't be made, but that this is really important and he'll owe her. that getting anyone else involved would only complicate things, and that the coworker she's about to summon is a bit of a tosser anyway, so he's bound to speak against them.
it takes a minute or two. the waiting of it stretches, and for a second John's composure almost cracks into temper— then the woman's casting one last glance at Rosalind, and nodding them past. as soon as they're past her and out of earshot, John fills Rosalind in. ]
She says if we stick tight to the barricade once we're through and follow it around we ought to be able to break off into a street around the corner.
no subject
fine. fine. he was going to talk to them to start with, wasn't he?
it's no more instructions for Rosalind - though he does throw her a quick, ] The sicker you can look, the better.
[ and then he's scanning the people ahead of them— and stops. there. marching forward, headed for a woman he'd worked quite closely with during the epidemic, John starts selling a story. he knows his audience. he knows the names to drop. he knows just when to glance over Rosalind's way, expression somehow both urgent and apologetic.
he's not the best actor, but he's both well and not well enough known around here to navigate through blindspots. there's some level of camaraderie, of respect built in small pockets with certain people. it happens when you've been through something together.
every time the woman looks like she might be about to turn to call for a second opinion, John steps in with something else. to stress the urgency of the situation. to tell her that he understands things are tough, and that maybe exceptions shouldn't be made, but that this is really important and he'll owe her. that getting anyone else involved would only complicate things, and that the coworker she's about to summon is a bit of a tosser anyway, so he's bound to speak against them.
it takes a minute or two. the waiting of it stretches, and for a second John's composure almost cracks into temper— then the woman's casting one last glance at Rosalind, and nodding them past. as soon as they're past her and out of earshot, John fills Rosalind in. ]
She says if we stick tight to the barricade once we're through and follow it around we ought to be able to break off into a street around the corner.