winksandnods: (Newspaper reading)
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How in God's name do you all stand this?

[Too many long nights spent able to do nothing more than read the Journals, which provide no insight to the Malnosso. Too many cups of coffee and glasses of Scotch and soda. Too many questions he can't find answers to.

Anthony Blunt, to say the least, is on edge.

He's taken to drawing lately, more than he has in years. Though, unlike what he's told his fellows, he never really abandoned his art. His scenes are bleak, though-- Snowy buildings that loom and cast long shadows. Scabbed skin with numbers just visible under the wound. Complacent wraiths. All of the sketches are safely hidden in a journal kept under a floorboard in his bedroom.

He can think of no way in. The talk of "missions" he's heard have not seemed to endear individuals to the Malnosso, so volunteering for one would be only suicide, not helpful. Their captors have been silent themselves, there has been, so far as he has seen, no direct line to speak to them. Except, perhaps, just before Halloween, but he had not been in a proper state to ask questions then.]

Date: 2011-12-09 06:59 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] pugilistinpink.livejournal.com
Wha... whaddya want me t'say, Mr.Anthony? [He demands exasperatedly.] Y'want me t'say I can't do nothin' on my own? Yeah, 'kay, I probably couldn't do many a' those things... but I'd sure as hell try somethin'. The Malnosso... [Another stiff shake of the head, his eyes unusually fierce.] I don' owe 'em nothin'. No. I... I won't ever owe 'em nothin'.

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Anthony Blunt

September 2020

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