Backdated to three days after the Overlook port.
[Locked to Friends (if she's ever told you anything personal, you're on here)]
That port was fucked up for everyone and it hit all of us hard. After going through that I know most of you aren't feeling up to par yet, but when I get anxious, I get antsy. I've laid low to lick my wounds long enough. For the next few hours I'll be playing pool and pretending everything's normal if you've got the energy or inclination to join me.
[Spam, Level 6]
[Rack the balls in the pyramid, set the cue-ball, chalk the cue evenly, line up the shot, break it; Beatrix repeats the pattern over and over again, sinking balls into the table's pockets before starting anew. It's not for practice or any particular love of the game, it's not even for fun. It's just that playing strikes that perfect balance of skilled focus and monotony that allows her to zone out, and the last thing she wanted to do right now was let her mind wander. It was already hard enough to push the images of Sarah and that thing in room 217's bathroom from the forefront of her mind – what she needed, wanted, was someone to talk to, distract her.
But no matter how deeply you repress it, you can't squelch a thought. So by all means, join her, but take care if you point out that she's humming "Love Me Tender."]
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