District: Fartown, Neighborhood Golden Hills (just outside Silver Hill), The Mon Deu cafe.
Blair and Mr. Child sit accross from each other at an outside table at the Cafe.
Mr. Child sits at the cafe with you obviously quite uncomfortable with being there. He fidgets and fusses with impatience but remains. Blair has caught his eye and can read his mind as Mr. Child sips from his drink. It smells of ginger.
His wildest dream is the inky blackness of oblivion absence from the chaos of day to day existence. An oblivion not the blackness of destruction, where you would expect to find a particle of ash, whisp of smoke, or a lingering ringing in your ears, but rather an orderly oblivion. Something where each item has been carefully boxed up, labeled and shipped out of existence. Where a thorough sweeping and mopping of existence afterwords and you would be left alone in the inky blackness of nothingness as the proverbial lights are turned off and the key turned in the lock for the last time.
Blair and Mr. Child sit accross from each other at an outside table at the Cafe.
Mr. Child sits at the cafe with you obviously quite uncomfortable with being there. He fidgets and fusses with impatience but remains. Blair has caught his eye and can read his mind as Mr. Child sips from his drink. It smells of ginger.
His wildest dream is the inky blackness of oblivion absence from the chaos of day to day existence. An oblivion not the blackness of destruction, where you would expect to find a particle of ash, whisp of smoke, or a lingering ringing in your ears, but rather an orderly oblivion. Something where each item has been carefully boxed up, labeled and shipped out of existence. Where a thorough sweeping and mopping of existence afterwords and you would be left alone in the inky blackness of nothingness as the proverbial lights are turned off and the key turned in the lock for the last time.
