Jake's thinking much the same thing as he feels the chair rise underneath him. He's less worried about falling than he is about now figuring out how to lower the chair without banging it on the ground. But before he can really start sweating bullets, Majima is there, grabbing the chair. Thank god he called Majima in here when he did.
It's pure instinct to touch the man's shoulder to get his footing. It's not just his footing he gets in the bargain. Unexpectedly, he blinks and opens wide eyes on a scene from a time and a place far from here.
People standing in a street in New York? No, that's just the association he makes because it's all he knows. The signs are in Japanese; the red lantern hanging from the eave of a building is pretty, and decidedly not something you'd see in his neighborhood unless it were Chinatown. He recognizes one of the people with startling clarity--Majima.
There's no convenient translation services to tell him what they're saying, but they're aborted attempt to flee and Majima's imploring, pained attempts to rouse his female companion say enough. And the gun. There's a gun. There's a man with a gun, and they can't get up--
Jake jolts from the vision with a near-gasp like someone snapping out of a waking dream, unwittingly tightening his hold on Majima's shoulder even as he leans back against the filing cabinet like the force of the car bomb has sent him reeling, too.]
no subject
[Shit.
Jake's thinking much the same thing as he feels the chair rise underneath him. He's less worried about falling than he is about now figuring out how to lower the chair without banging it on the ground. But before he can really start sweating bullets, Majima is there, grabbing the chair. Thank god he called Majima in here when he did.
It's pure instinct to touch the man's shoulder to get his footing. It's not just his footing he gets in the bargain. Unexpectedly, he blinks and opens wide eyes on a scene from a time and a place far from here.
People standing in a street in New York? No, that's just the association he makes because it's all he knows. The signs are in Japanese; the red lantern hanging from the eave of a building is pretty, and decidedly not something you'd see in his neighborhood unless it were Chinatown. He recognizes one of the people with startling clarity--Majima.
There's no convenient translation services to tell him what they're saying, but they're aborted attempt to flee and Majima's imploring, pained attempts to rouse his female companion say enough. And the gun. There's a gun. There's a man with a gun, and they can't get up--
Jake jolts from the vision with a near-gasp like someone snapping out of a waking dream, unwittingly tightening his hold on Majima's shoulder even as he leans back against the filing cabinet like the force of the car bomb has sent him reeling, too.]