[Well. I guess it's Tuesday, you fat, nasty trash - and by that, we specify that PAL is the fat, nasty trash, because fuck him. Seriously. Fuck him and his dumb motives, fuck him and being able to screw with everyone's minds, fuck...him...up the ass...with a crowbar...seriously. After the motive, Jane is on edge - they all are, they're all scared, they've all just lost people who were important to them and they were bound to lose more unless someone acted. And Jane...she can't. She doesn't want to kill. Even if she forgets all their names and faces, she can't do that to the people who are gone.
You'd be forgiven for thinking her holing up in the Bar 'n Grill and cooking is done out of peppy, chipper energy, but then again, the manic tenseness of her entire body sends a very clear signal that Jane is afraid. Afraid of how far PAL's reach could go, afraid of who she could wake up losing tomorrow, afraid of being torn from the purpose that she was only beginning to unearth within herself again. She cooks in here most of the day, and if you want some of whatever she makes, she won't stop you - in fact, it'd probably help with her mood to show that you trust her right now. But you're not obligated to eat her food.
It's in the evening, in both Concourses, where the food's purpose is apparent. For each person, Jane sets up a little memorial of sorts, putting a bowl of the various things she's cooked out for everyone who is gone. Even when she gets to the Concourse of her own group and lingers at the desks with their names blackened out, their pictures gone, she leaves something. And she sits by Gate 2-8 when she is done, with her hands folded, and she thinks. And she thinks. And she relentlessly, stubbornly sits there and tries to stay awake.
Can't take her memories if she doesn't sleep, asshole.]
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You'd be forgiven for thinking her holing up in the Bar 'n Grill and cooking is done out of peppy, chipper energy, but then again, the manic tenseness of her entire body sends a very clear signal that Jane is afraid. Afraid of how far PAL's reach could go, afraid of who she could wake up losing tomorrow, afraid of being torn from the purpose that she was only beginning to unearth within herself again. She cooks in here most of the day, and if you want some of whatever she makes, she won't stop you - in fact, it'd probably help with her mood to show that you trust her right now. But you're not obligated to eat her food.
It's in the evening, in both Concourses, where the food's purpose is apparent. For each person, Jane sets up a little memorial of sorts, putting a bowl of the various things she's cooked out for everyone who is gone. Even when she gets to the Concourse of her own group and lingers at the desks with their names blackened out, their pictures gone, she leaves something. And she sits by Gate 2-8 when she is done, with her hands folded, and she thinks. And she thinks. And she relentlessly, stubbornly sits there and tries to stay awake.
Can't take her memories if she doesn't sleep, asshole.]