[ It's late — well-past midnight when Jackson finds his way to the rooftop, fingers curled around a half-empty bottle of beer. Whatever the New Year is supposed to bring or hold, the only thing Jackson can think about and hope for is not-here. Not freedom, not rescue, not safety or harbor but simply not here. He doesn't understand a lot of things his wife says (or hell, what anyone says) but he understands her when she says I don't want to be here anymore.
(He doesn't — can't — understand how desperate she is. That's something Circe took from him, something he didn't freely give and maybe that makes him angry but maybe that doesn't matter. Being angry at the witch is a fool's move.)
It's not much of a view up here, but it's quiet and the air is cool. Circe left behind enough to let him appreciate that, at the very least. ]
JACKSON | rooftop
(He doesn't — can't — understand how desperate she is. That's something Circe took from him, something he didn't freely give and maybe that makes him angry but maybe that doesn't matter. Being angry at the witch is a fool's move.)
It's not much of a view up here, but it's quiet and the air is cool. Circe left behind enough to let him appreciate that, at the very least. ]