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Mᴏʀɢᴀɴ Bʟᴀᴋᴇ; ʀᴀᴠᴇɴ ᴛᴏᴛᴇᴍ (
2015-11-06 01:16 pm (UTC)
Kentucky -- Morgan knew it. "Ah, no shit? I'm here from Tennessee; I 'ave family in Lafayette, but I lived in Humboldt most'uh my life." He remembers his mother taking eastbound interstates to visit their aunt, how flat and empty it all looked. He doesn't expect this guy to know anything about Humboldt, but if he lived anywhere near the Tennessee border, then surely he will have heard of Lafayette.
The Raven sits still, watchful, quiet. Morgan's eye flicks from its face to absentmindedly gaze at the side of this guy's bag, the empty soda bottle. He remembers the pack of cigarettes in his hand, looks down at them. Instead he sees a bottle, solid white with a screw-off lid, blue label, small writing all the way down the length on the back. It makes the sound of a rainstick in his mind when he flips it over to read the writing. It fizzles, blurs, he feels
Morgan looks up at the man again, and finds his vision quickly clearing. Slowly, cautiously, Morgan grips his cigarettes in his hand again, feels the cardboard and outer plastic wrapping crinkle and give under his fingers. Just cigarettes. Whew. He's trying real hard not to look conspicuous, and carefully slips the pack into the breast pocket of his denim jacket. Has this guy been saying anything? Shit, Morgan swallows and blinks and refocuses his attention on the present. What the
was that vision about? This guy? His death?
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