With The Birds I'll Share This Lonely View


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Scene Title With The Birds I'll Share This Lonely View
Synopsis Jenny tries to find some alone time.
Date February 28, 2010

The Lighthouse

It's good to get away. It's good to escape. These days, more than the others, Jenny desires to be alone. Securing the door behind her, she chuckles out a swear word at the complete cold in which she finds herself, though determined to feel like this isn't a stupid idea, to be up here. Ice lines the metal railings, and she feels a numb smile slide on her face to see the build up of icicles. Crazy weather we're having. So crazy. Wrapping her long arms around herself, she moves towards the edge to peer downwards, then out at the sluggish body of water that is the Narrows river. You can almost see the broken bridge from here, on top of the Lighthouse.

Shuddering beneath layers of wool, Jenny takes even breaths of icy air. Her cold has been stemmed, and though this will do nothing for it, not at all, there's something sharp and crisp that wakes up her senses, makes her feel more like herself.

The beating of wings has her green-eyed gaze shift up from the dripping daggers of ice, towards where a seabird has landed upon the railing, webbed feet apparently uncaring of the cold, wrapping in place and wings tented to keep its balance. Yellow beak tilts this way and one black, beady eye stares out at her with birdish curiousity. Does she provide food? Is she danger? No? Jenny isn't sure what she is to the bird herself, but stands still, motionless, except for where the wind tugs at loose locks of rust red hair to blow them like seaweed under water.

It's when a second one joins her, that makes her jump a little, taking a step back and forgetting all about her want for privacy and the view. Maybe she's not getting it at all.

"Go away," she says, voice sounding croaky. "Go, shoo! Fly away!" It's too cold to release her arms from their tight wrap around her torso, so she stomps her foot, once. The twin birds don't seem to care, simply staring her down, before one tucks its head back to preen, briefly. Breathing out a stream of steam, Jenny squinches her eyes shut. Get a grip. Everything is so strange, so strange, in her head and out of it, but this isn't a Hitchcock film—

A heavier flap, wings enough to make a gust, and when she cracks her eyes open, the blurry sight of a huge black raven alight right next to the other two avian smears in her vision is enough to break her silence. "Go away!" she shrieks, voice breaking an octave upwards, her arms suddenly flying out in a flap to ward them away, the tail end of her scarf flipping. "Go away, go away! Go away!"

The twin white birds quickly zip off to find something more interesting, but the raven remains a second longer, enough that sound dries up in Jenny's mouth as she stares. Then, it launches into the air, and she squeaks as its big black wing rakes feather tips against her cheek in a stinging whip. She doesn't see where it goes, doesn't care, too busy flinging herself inside at a stumble, and then—

The solid slam of the door, the reverberation breaking icicles off the railings.

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