all these microscopic moments help me feel like i'm not helpless

[grifters]

[ let the record state that jed should have never, ever let amy anywhere near his personal effects, let alone into his space. bringing strays home, whether you realize they're stray or not, only breeds trouble. but when she knocks on his door hard enough to bruise her knuckles and disturb his neighbors, it's with the false assurance of a person who has some other place to go, which is the best way to get over any threshold. ]

I brought you this. [ it's a warm, damp paper bag inside transparent yellow plastic - some kind of chinese food, but she's not sure what's actually inside given that she'd just sauntered in and grabbed it off the counter while no one was watching - and she shoves it into his hands and then shoulders past him a little too hard, still kind of salty that she hadn't gotten the entirety of her way. can't win 'em all, or really any of them lately, but she's here and she'll have the pictures developed soon enough and then maybe the nightmare that is her life will quietly come to an end.

by her own standards his apartment is massive and it piques her interest almost immediately, but like a well-behaved house guest she foregoes immediately beginning to case the place and shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket instead, pulling out two film canisters. the idea of letting them away from her person makes her deeply uncomfortable, but what other choice is there? at least he knows what he's doing. it's hardly a balm, but she'll take relief where she can get it. ]

These are important to me. [ a lot of people died because of these pictures. ] Please, just...

[ just take the film before she loses her nerve. ]

Comments

[obsessions]

[ Amy's abrupt hesitation, at complete odds with how she basically shoved her way inside, makes Danny reconsider the retort he's had ready from the second she pounded on his door. His scowl, however, remains as he stares at her. Why am I doing this runs through his head again, not for the first time—and the answer follows just as predictably. He exhales sharply, shifting her—gift? peace offering? bribe?—to one hand before reaching out to take the film canisters with the other. ]

Well, hello to you too.

[ he walks into the kitchen and deposits the bag on a counter. The bright rumpled plastic sticks out vividly against its surroundings: monotone, clean, neat. Nothing's new, but everything from has its place. The living area around Amy isn't much different. A secondhand sofa, a TV with a crooked rabbit ears antenna, a worn bookshelf half-full of nonfiction books found on old bestseller lists. A dozen or so framed photographs—artistically composed portraits with a few nature and city landscapes—hang on the wall directly across from the door, saving the space from a total lack of personality.

Danny puts the film canisters down then takes a moment to wash his hands in the sink, glancing back at Amy only when he's finished drying them. ]

So what am I working with here? If I can't know what's on it, you could at least tell me what kind of film this is.