shelley_winters | (no subject)

The house is quiet.

Uncomfortably, oppressively quiet, in fact, but as Shelley sternly reminds herself, still better than it had been with Elan... staring over her shoulder in that way he has where he's not actually doing anything but is still making his presence unbearable. She's sitting in the kitchen, where she had been when he left, staring at a cup of tea as it grows cold, and trying to recall how one goes back to 'normal.' There is a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that if she ever got there, she wouldn't recognise it anyway.

But they only...

Shelley clenches her fists miserably, cheeks reddening just at the memory - which is for some reason etched crystal-clear into her mind, when so much else gets easily blurred and confused - and gets up shakily to wash out her mug and the teapot. No good. She can't think about it rationally, which is probably a sign that it was a huge mistake. As if she needed convincing.

Oh dear.

The phone rings, and she drops the cup.

"Bugger, bugger, um-" beep "Yes? Hello?!"

She takes a deep breath at the voice on the other end, calming down.

"Oh. Yes, hello. Um, what's the problem? Oh. Yes, okay. No, no! I can come! Yes. Fine. Why? Everything is perfectly normal okay I will see you in half an hour goodbye!"

Shelley puts the phone down firmly. She still isn't quite sure what work needs her for, but the idea of going to find out seems to her a good, sensible and overall distracting idea. She pauses to pick up her cup and halfheartedly mop up the spilt tea, then heads upstairs for her jacket and shoes.

It's a completely normal day. She just... needs help feeling like it is.

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"...Ummm, Shelley?"

The Mayor drummed his fingers lightly on the table. His tongue flicked out the corner of his mouth. It always made him feel bad to call Shelley from home, but it was an emergency! His office was in a surprising amount of disarray.

"So... I ummm... Know what you said about turning on my computer, but I thought there'd be emails and so..."

"...Oh, golly."

Shelley drops her bag and jacket on her chair and scurries over to the Mayor's desk, where his computer is making forlorn beeping noises. Occasionally she wonders if Mister Mayor has some kind of superpower to do with this. Superpower of technological doom.

"Um. What did you press after 'On?'"

Another deep breath as he glanced over at the computer as if it were a rabid wolverine. He made a clicking sound with his tongue. This was always one of the toughest part of his job.

"I pushed three keys... twice."

Shelley closes her eyes and takes a breath. Oh dear, oh dear.

"...Which three keys? Show me."

Walking slowly, uneasily towards the computer, James Mayor chewed his lower lip. Breathe, James, it's just a computer. Glancing to Shelley, he pointed towards the keyboard.

"...Maybe those, or that one. They all kinda look alike, you know, being small and white."

"...Okay..."

Not too bad, although that might have opened up...

"Did you type anything after that? Or, er, hit it?"

Pursing his lips, he put his hand to his mouth for a moment as he stared uneasily at the keyboard. Turning his head, he half-frowned.

"I just... I'm not so very sure.

"Oh dear, amnesia is never happy," says Shelley worriedly, vocal chords going on autopilot at she clicks tentatively here and there on the screen, and finally settles for turning off the sound.

It doesn't fix anything, but at least the beeping stops.

Demonstrating the inherent dangers of running in a tight skirt and heels, a rather frantic woman spilled into the room. Unsure whether to point or compose herself, the woman settled on stammering all but incoherently.

"M-mister Mayor! There's a... um, a small apocalypse in the park!"

The mayor's eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline as the blood drained from his face. Glancing uneasily to Shelley, he thought for a moment and then inquired of Shelley.

"That... doesn't sound good. Not good at all. Shelley, what's our policy on apocalypses?"

Shelley freezes.

"...We don't like them, Mr. Mayor," she says rigidly. "We have a very strict anti-apocalypse stance. Um. Should we... look?"

She really doesn't want to. Because... yes, this is Tackleford, but there's another, far more likely explanation.

It's not a nice one.

Glancing about nervously, the mayor chewed his lip for a moment while he thought of the best way to send Shelley to do it without being in any danger himself.

"I think that... you should look. I'm going to stay here and... file papers. Yes, filing is very important. You take care of that minor doomsday in the park."

Ordinarily, this would warrant a minor squeak, and possibly some stuttering. But... If it is what she thinks it is...?

Damage control. It's really the only option.

"...Right."