All John can really offer in response to the movie references is a vague hum; he hasn't seen either film, but trusts that it's an apt comparison. It's just that he can't see the point. If this isn't one of the entities at work, then it would mean some other shadowy organization decided to drug and kidnap them at random, which makes no sense at all.
"Well, speaking as a professional kidnapping victim, I would have expected the responsible party to have done some gloating or threatening, by now," he says drily. "Unless it really is the Web. I'm not sure any of the other entities could be this... subtle." Not that there was anything subtle about either of their arrivals here, but Martin's right about how oddly complacent the populace seems to be. And despite the horror stories he's heard and the odd site-specific details, the city has a ground-in normalcy that seems difficult to feign. It feels established, lived-in, right down to the bloody water stain on the ceiling.
... Then again, who are they to criticize complacency? They've just bought property, and aside from discussing the bizarreness of it all, it's not as if either of them have made concrete attempts to escape. They haven't sought the city's boundary with a sledgehammer in hand, or attempted to follow the train tracks out of town. Maybe the Web doesn't need to manipulate them into settling in. Maybe that's just what they want, deep down. What he wants. It's not as if things are so much worse for him here that he's truly desperate to get back to the status quo: reading Statements, fretting about people who didn't want to be anywhere near him, feeling his own humanity slipping through his fingers. Maybe it doesn't matter what this truly is, because it's better.
He nods absently as Martin holds the door for him, taking in the restaurant's interior with a sweeping glance. It's light and airy, pleasant in a way that feels more emotionally than culturally foreign. It isn't long before he and Martin are tucked away in a booth with glasses of water and menus sat before them. John picks up his menu like it's a relic from another time, looking it over and then huffing out a faint, bewildered laugh. "Christ. Been a while, hasn't it?" he asks, glancing across the table at Martin.
no subject
"Well, speaking as a professional kidnapping victim, I would have expected the responsible party to have done some gloating or threatening, by now," he says drily. "Unless it really is the Web. I'm not sure any of the other entities could be this... subtle." Not that there was anything subtle about either of their arrivals here, but Martin's right about how oddly complacent the populace seems to be. And despite the horror stories he's heard and the odd site-specific details, the city has a ground-in normalcy that seems difficult to feign. It feels established, lived-in, right down to the bloody water stain on the ceiling.
... Then again, who are they to criticize complacency? They've just bought property, and aside from discussing the bizarreness of it all, it's not as if either of them have made concrete attempts to escape. They haven't sought the city's boundary with a sledgehammer in hand, or attempted to follow the train tracks out of town. Maybe the Web doesn't need to manipulate them into settling in. Maybe that's just what they want, deep down. What he wants. It's not as if things are so much worse for him here that he's truly desperate to get back to the status quo: reading Statements, fretting about people who didn't want to be anywhere near him, feeling his own humanity slipping through his fingers. Maybe it doesn't matter what this truly is, because it's better.
He nods absently as Martin holds the door for him, taking in the restaurant's interior with a sweeping glance. It's light and airy, pleasant in a way that feels more emotionally than culturally foreign. It isn't long before he and Martin are tucked away in a booth with glasses of water and menus sat before them. John picks up his menu like it's a relic from another time, looking it over and then huffing out a faint, bewildered laugh. "Christ. Been a while, hasn't it?" he asks, glancing across the table at Martin.