Amanda and Daria move into the editing suite. Shortly, Julia returns from the private bathroom shaking her head.
There's no sign of him. Looking at the desk, it seems an archaic way to make a movie. One of the distinguishing characteristics of Jared Woodward is his emphasis on using true film, despite the access to modern digital formats. Cannisters of film lie open all about the desk and several strands of it appear strewn about the floor and table. On top of the desk are large rewinding stands for running one piece of film through a project to a take up reel. Tools and implements are present to bond one portion of the strip to the next, although there is an exacto knife and evidence of Woodward splicing or editing specific scenes.
Positioned in the projector is a single frame that shows a woman with her eyes closed as if to the sun, wind blowing her hair back from her face. None of the women recognize the actress, but her delicate features seem to convey a beauty and confidence even from the still frame. There is something... wrong about her, though. Something that screams in the back of the women's minds that she is dangerous.
As Daria, Amanda and Julia look at the bright image of the woman on the still screen, her eyes open in a snap. The film reel is not moving and yet the image changes as the women see into the infinite void contained within the space where her eyes should be. Pin pricks of light seem to constantly appear at the edges of her eyes only to be sucked into the vast blackness that sits at their center.
OOC:
I'm going to do my best to describe this :)
Unconsciously all women find their minds fuzz and mouths open as blood begins to stream from their noses. In a flash the editing suite is gone. The oppressive silence of the sound room being replaced by roaring waves crashing against a foreign shore. A blasting wind seems to constantly buffet the women as they stand on broken black rocks. Around them on three sides are sheer, black smooth rocky faces that rise into stormy clouds overhead. In front of them the ground continues in a semicircle roughly 300 yards away, ending in an abrupt cliff. The cliff they stand on is pitched in such a way that below the current elevation can not be seen, but the crashing sounds of waves speaks to a violent sea attacking the base of the cliff face. All that can be seen is the gray stormy skies with clouds that billow and undulate in odd patterns, moving seemingly too quick to be natural. The air is charged with ozone and an electric energy that seems to buzz against exposed flesh, leaving goosebumps in its wake.
Standing 100 yards away from the women, closer to the cliff is a woman dressed in a fine black silk gown facing away from them. The black fabric seems to be made of a black that defies description, something blacker than black. Something that rather than a color is the truest absence of color. As it blows in the raging wind small pin pricks of light seem to dance along it's length. The woman's jet black hair hangs straight in an odd defiance of the wind. Her hands are draped at her sides.
Kneeling in front of the woman and facing Daria, Amanda and Julia is Jared Woodward. He wears a track suit of white and is looking up at the woman with a face filled with awe and terror. The wind carries his words to the three women.
Please... Spare me... I just need more time... It's almost finished... I'm not ready yet...
