[FORWARD-DATED TO AFTER THE WATERS HAVE RECEDED AND THE DEAD ARE NO LONGER DEAD. Or undead as the case may be.
Waking up, soaking wet and crumpled in the hallway where she’d drowned, the memory of water filling her lungs, panic and fear making it all worse, sharp and jagged in her head, Jesse had gone back to her room, gone somewhere safe and hers, only to find that it was too quiet and slipped into her lab instead. But when she’d gone to write something down, to start work on another project... it had been nonsensical, a mishmash of words with no rhyme or reason. And her stomach had twisted with worry. Which hasn’t gone away.
Because she can’t talk. Can’t write. It’s all fine in her head, but the moment she tries to communicate, to SAY something, or write something, it goes all sideways. If she can manage words at all.
And it’s gotten worse, because something is going on. The flooding is gone but time is repeating. Still repeating, although she’d been more focused on trying to survive during the flooding to pay it much mind, then. Little hops backward in time, reliving the past couple of hours.
When the video feed comes on, she’s in her lab, hair pulled back in a ponytail and wearing an oversized S.T.A.R Labs sweatshirt. Behind her is a clearboard covered in nonsensical writing that WAS her attempt to try and figure out what was happening scientifically. Something’s wrong. We’re repeating time.]
Sarcastic warning. Water re-referencing thermometer.
[Damn it. She huffs a frustrated breath. Brow furrowed as she focuses, trying her best to get what she’s thinking, what she WANTS to say, to be the actual words she’s saying.]
The cl-clock isn’t always right.
[Closer, but still not what she’s actually trying to SAY. Frustrated and angry at herself, she spins and sends some of the contents of one of the tables in her lab flying. Papers. Pens. Tools. A few odds and ends. A very familiar sight to a few people in Wonderland, but usually it’s a different Wells doing it.]