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for zane! sure does suck to hang out in bright falls, huh
It was curiosity that drove Dorian to Bright Falls at the start. He had heard rumors, of course. This was where that mediocre writer, Alan Wake died (or at least, vanished in a way where nobody found the body). There was somebody else there too, someone else had vanished. Truth be told, two missing people wasn't enough to draw Dorian's attention. But there were enough rumors about the place to interest him. And, truth be told, Dorian was bored. Bored enough to gallivant off to Washington solely to investigate a rumor.
Well, it's probably not a rumor at all, is it. Because as night fell, Dorian felt something in the air shift. It felt...thicker, in a way? Which is a very weird thing to say about the fucking air, but it is what it is. It felt thicker, almost oppressive in a way that darkness rarely is. He thought about the London smog of the 1950s, those few days where the terrible air, the coal dust and soot, and the vehicle exhaust all bound together to create something toxic, something that choked in your throat and lungs. It was a thick, toxic, omnipresent darkness.
Yeah, Dorian is absolutely certain something's up now. The jury's out as to what it truly is.
He can be found standing outside of his shitty little motel room, television turned on solely for background noise, frowning as he looks at the encroaching darkness. This is...weird. Weird in a way where Dorian kind of wants to jump head-first into it. Weird in a way that hopefully won't kill him.
As he reaches for his cigarettes, he puts one in his mouth, then looks around for his box of matches. It's back inside the hotel room, but who knows. If there's anyone approaching, perhaps he can bum a light.
Well, it's probably not a rumor at all, is it. Because as night fell, Dorian felt something in the air shift. It felt...thicker, in a way? Which is a very weird thing to say about the fucking air, but it is what it is. It felt thicker, almost oppressive in a way that darkness rarely is. He thought about the London smog of the 1950s, those few days where the terrible air, the coal dust and soot, and the vehicle exhaust all bound together to create something toxic, something that choked in your throat and lungs. It was a thick, toxic, omnipresent darkness.
Yeah, Dorian is absolutely certain something's up now. The jury's out as to what it truly is.
He can be found standing outside of his shitty little motel room, television turned on solely for background noise, frowning as he looks at the encroaching darkness. This is...weird. Weird in a way where Dorian kind of wants to jump head-first into it. Weird in a way that hopefully won't kill him.
As he reaches for his cigarettes, he puts one in his mouth, then looks around for his box of matches. It's back inside the hotel room, but who knows. If there's anyone approaching, perhaps he can bum a light.