Irrelevant. Unimportant. Stupid. She is marching (trudging, really. shuffling. sliding? dragging herself. shuff-- damn it! shambling. she is shambling) forward into the dessert. Desert. The desert. Toward the Outside. Timtam went this way. Did. Did. Did. Saw. She saw. Timtam went and she has to follow. Already made that decision. Already commute....... com[i]mitted[/i]. Commit to the commute. Come, come, come. No: go. Forward. Answers are behind her, Irrelevant. Unimportant. Stupid. Methodology behind her. Process? Investigation. Clues and notes and stuff. If she wanted those she would not have given chase in the first place. She would have allowed Timtam to escape (allowed? [i]allowed?![/i] you arrogant incompetent above-all-else-unnatractive useless piece of)... deep breath. Hold. Hands on face, slide down through air toward hips and exhale. Drop thought chain into sand. Leave it behind. Irrelevant. Unimportant. Stupid. That's right. Speaking with Timtam is more important than catching her. Being her friend is more valuable than stopping her. Not possible. Neither possible. Catching her comes first. Also not possible. No. Not... not not possible (word, word. word? Prefix. forget), immanently pos-- im!! [i]im[/i]possible! Er, no. Not impossible. Achievable, one and all. That is why one foot keeps moving in front of the other and why her hips keep pivoting beneath her waist and why she is leaving these dainty footprints in the sand while she waits for the wind to swallow them up and sweep them away like colors off the floor of a Irrelevant. Unimportant. Stupid. Timtam does not want to be her friend. She, she, she, she, she, she, uh, um............... proved that. She knew. Somehow knew. Knew ever, every, thing. Every, everyth-- rrrrrrrrrrrgraaaaaaahhh!! Snffft. Hck. EVERYTHING. She knew everything already. Knew Eclair would be the one they sent. Planted clues that would lure Eclair the most specifically. Probably misworded her painted warning on purpose to use as bait. Planted seeds of dissent at every interview point. Dissent? No, what? Not dissent. Diss, diss... shoot, no. Discord!!! There it is, ok. Ok. Thank goodness, yes. Discord. Stop getting distracted. Irrelevant, unimportant, blah blah blah. Eclair's feet stop moving. She turns her head to look back on Crevas, the point of reality shining bright and strong against the backdrop of this shifting, sandy nothing. Everything she wanted was back there. Cup of tea, snack, small meal possibly. Clues, methodology, pages and pages and pages in the notebook that would become the rope she could bind Timtam in no matter how skillfully she maneuvered. She sighs and hangs her head as she turns forward again. Shuffle slide march shambles further into the unknown and the dyes. Timtam hurt her. Set the trap and filled her mind with too-bright lights and too-loud noises and now she, and now she, now she, she now and, and she now, and, and, and, and. Um. Uh..... ............. ...!..!.!!!.. What was she? Erm. A single finger traces the lines jotted down in her notebook. Eclair frowns. She's chasing after Timtam. It doesn't matter that she can't catch her. She is colors and smears and stains, waiting to be swept off the floor. Can't be swept off the floor. She is colors and a mess and she wants to cry but she's broken and it isn't happening. Open mouth, test. Speech? Express thought. Say anything. Say 'ow'. "..." Right. Foot forward then. Return to investigative principles advised but ignored. Turning around means losing. Admission of mistake. Giving up. She just. Doesn't feel ready for that. Onward, then. Legs versus mind, to see which tires first. It's all Irrelevant. Unimportant. Stupid. Self defeating. Pitiful. Desperate. Longing. Loving. It's [hider=hold] don't let go [/hider] What lead her to the Manor in the first place. Eclair marches on.