Really? (There it is. That earnest, childish wonder that made it very clear that Eddie was only twelve. More than that, that he was a twelve year old from the fifties. Someone who still sometimes would go out into the woods with a stick and play pretend that he was some jungle explorer looking for a tiger. It's this same kind of wonder that he looks at Angela now, wonder because he can't quite figure out why she would mean it.
Maybe it didn't always matter.
Eddie was instinctively kind and wanted to help. Maybe she couldn't unload her burden onto him, but even letting him help in some small way...
It's funny. He should be panicking the more that she talks. His mom's voice should be rattling off all the different ways he could get sick, about how this was precisely why he should never leave her. And he could hear her voice still, that ghost mother whispering frantically in his ear. He could even feel the faint wave of anxiety crashing against his mind. Only for once, it didn't really feel like it was happening to him. It felt like someone had jarred up all his anxiety and put it in the back of his mind where it could still be heard, but not quite felt.
It was ......a completely indescribable feeling. His hand briefly touches his chest, and his heart was thumping calmly. No panic.)
What did you give me? Everything in my head has gone soft and quiet when normally hearing that you don't know what this shit could do would have me screaming for the hills.
(A pause- then:)
I think maybe people like to think they're helping. Do you think I did that with my video? (Eddie doesn't seem upset or worried, but instead genuinely curious if he had added to some sort of mass panic. He thinks maybe he might of.)
That's what I thought. I also wondered how he could be certain it was the real medicine. I mean, it's Deerington, you know? Everything is weird and nothing is ever so easy as just snatching up a sample. (Eddie's frowning now, looking at his hands.) I wonder if that lady is okay.
(Eddie's mouth screws up at the corner, and he's looking up at Angela, mouth hanging open before he closes it and gives a steady nod.)
thiiiis got long. because OFC IT DID....
Maybe it didn't always matter.
Eddie was instinctively kind and wanted to help. Maybe she couldn't unload her burden onto him, but even letting him help in some small way...
It's funny. He should be panicking the more that she talks. His mom's voice should be rattling off all the different ways he could get sick, about how this was precisely why he should never leave her. And he could hear her voice still, that ghost mother whispering frantically in his ear. He could even feel the faint wave of anxiety crashing against his mind. Only for once, it didn't really feel like it was happening to him. It felt like someone had jarred up all his anxiety and put it in the back of his mind where it could still be heard, but not quite felt.
It was ......a completely indescribable feeling. His hand briefly touches his chest, and his heart was thumping calmly. No panic.)
What did you give me? Everything in my head has gone soft and quiet when normally hearing that you don't know what this shit could do would have me screaming for the hills.
(A pause- then:)
I think maybe people like to think they're helping. Do you think I did that with my video? (Eddie doesn't seem upset or worried, but instead genuinely curious if he had added to some sort of mass panic. He thinks maybe he might of.)
That's what I thought. I also wondered how he could be certain it was the real medicine. I mean, it's Deerington, you know? Everything is weird and nothing is ever so easy as just snatching up a sample. (Eddie's frowning now, looking at his hands.) I wonder if that lady is okay.
(Eddie's mouth screws up at the corner, and he's looking up at Angela, mouth hanging open before he closes it and gives a steady nod.)
Um- yeah. I don't mind if it's you taking it.