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 Posted: Thu Feb 10, 2011 10:02 am
I'm definitely okay.
I'm not perfectly fine.
I'm thinking straight,
no, there's something wrong.
Just let me go, you're treating the wrong-
Go ahead, ask me anything... I remember it all.
Frank followed Serena to the back of the bus, but before they sat down she cried out: ”CAN’T YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?” Frank was stopped in his tracks, he wasn’t sure what he did. It didn’t help that Heath had popped up out of his seat to side on with Serena. He was worried that he had pushed his boundaries a little too far with her. He gulped, but just as quickly as she had yelled, she apologized. Frank smiled, nodded and took the seat beside her. He suddenly felt awkward on the bus, like there was a tension between him and the air. It felt thick, thick with anger and hatred. He couldn’t help but look around to see what caused it. It was then that he noticed Heath making his way over to the seat right in front of them.
Frank tried to smile, but from the look on Heath’s face there was no fixing whatever he did. Frank’s fingers twitched as his hand slid between him and Serena. It took him the longest time to just be able to touch her hand gently with the tip of his fingers. He gently pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The tips of his fingers gently wrapped around her slender digits. If she pulled her hand away, he wouldn’t stop her. ‘Like I’m going to let you near a girl after…’ The voice in his head spoke so clearly and so much like Heath’s voice, it sounded like it came from his lips. Frank cocked his head to the side to look at Heath. His eyes definitely spoke for the words Frank had heard, so it wasn’t so far fetched that Heath would have spoken them. But why did he say it? Frank debated to question him, but he decided not to.
The bus ride was slow and awkward, he just couldn’t help but feel like he had to be on the edge of his seat and prepare to run. There was so much anger being embedded into his stomach, like a flaming arrow that burns every fiber of his being. He wanted the feeling to go away, he wanted to fix whatever problem there was. But it was hard to really approach someone if he didn’t know what the problem was in the first place. Frank suddenly felt himself start to fade away, the world around him becoming hazy. He tried to fight it, he didn’t want to leave Serena’s side. The first time he was able to be near her and hold her hand, and suddenly he was being taken away from that. His eyes fell closed and with vicious intensity, his eyes sprang open. His hand ripped away from Serena’s. The glasses were removed to get tucked into his collar.
Richard laughed coldly. He leaned forward to grip the seat in front of him. He looked down at Heather with a smirk, his dark eyes penetrated deep within her core. "Long time no see," his voice was much smoother, darker and intense. "I know you hate me, baby, but you gotta admit, we had a good time.” He laughed again, almost like a sinister snake. He leaped over the seat and pinned Heather down. He wasn’t going to do anything to her, not while there were witnesses around. He just wanted to make sure she wasn’t going to run away.
[ooc: if you don't like this post, I can change it. Seriously, we don't have to run with this. I can change it if it fudges up with anyone's plans. OOh, I also put in a bit of Frank's powers, too.]
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Posted: Thu Feb 10, 2011 10:30 pm
O L Y M P I A ♡ ALORAH ♡ M C G U I N N E S S missaisincrediblyepicjustincaseyouwondered it's all because of you; it's all because of you; it's all because of you
At first, Olympia thought little to nothing of Heath’s wandering focus and contented herself with analyzing her actions in relation to his. When he did that, did she do this? Was it the jagged atmosphere within the bus that was making her anxious or was it her close proximity to a boy she hardly knew? Though he did little besides looking back at their friends and glowering out the window, she could almost see shimmery waves of agitation rolling off his skin. He seemed to be absorbed in apprehension, as if he were perched on the ledge of some great precipice, though she couldn’t even begin to fathom the weight of his worry. Her eyes flitted down from their focus on the ceiling, leaving the disorganized network of age-old scrapes and bumps, and she realized with a start that this time, she’d been the distracted one.
She caught the last few words of his sentence and had just begun to scramble through her recent memory to fill in the rest when Serena’s distinctive cry rang out. Olympia craned her neck and peered around the edge of the bus seat, her smooth brow furrowing as she searched for the cause of her friend’s outburst. She jumped at Heath’s yell like a skittish rabbit and felt the steady beat of her breath quicken. It was only when Heath rose that she realized their hands were no longer joined. Olympia couldn’t bring herself to be sorry for the change.
This is a mistake. She thought, leaning subtly away from her companion as he fell back into his seat. This was what she got for trying to be impulsive. This is what happened when she strayed from her habits. She shook her head with two small, swift movements and kept her eyes focused on the ceiling when he spoke again. “It’s fine. We’re all worried about someone here.” And then the bus came to a noisy halt and he left. Instead of taking offense, Olympia counted the number of deep grooves in the metal roof.
Maybe she’d been his experiment just as much as he’d been hers. Maybe she’d gotten a little too invested in her trial, like an objective scientist gone mad fanatic. She’d been flattered, of course, but had hardly committed herself to forming an emotional attachment. She didn’t need to look to know Heath had settled in the back of the bus, joining the ever-thickening ring around Serena. Olympia had long grown out of her juvenile jealousy for the other girl. She used to marvel at just how magnetic Serena was, how everyone around her became paperclips one way or another and drifted into her pull. Olympia had her own pull, but she knew it to be far weaker. She was little more than a refrigerator magnet in comparison to Serena’s industrial strength.
She’d known Heath for a while, but never well enough to truly consider him a close-friend. He was more of a say-hi-and-maybe-hang-out-a-little friend. He was a friend she’d smile at if she passed in the hall and maybe talk to if neither of them had anything else to do, but he was never the friend she was crossing the hall to find. She supposed she could have blamed it all on her…issues. She was convinced she was little more than a neat freak, that she’d found herself in the Institution because she didn’t like touching things. She’d never really given it much thought. It only made sense that he'd leave. People and good things tended to do that one way or another after a while around her. That's just how it went. People took what they wanted, as much of it as she could give and then some. When they were sated, they left. What they left behind mattered little to anyone. Olympia wondered briefly what Heath had taken and what he'd come for. If he was so invested in Serena, interesting and clever Serena, what could she have possibly supplied him with? Had her acceptance of his hand--her experiment--given him the strength he needed to approach his goal? Had she been the Yellow Brick Road, bound to always lead to Serena, the shimmering and compelling Emerald City?
If she'd given herself much thought in that particular moment, Olympia would've been able to see her sudden slump into silence was the first stage of a tantrum. They were never exactly the same, her fits. Sometimes they'd start with a bang, with a fearsome burst, and end in passivity. Sometimes they'd go completely unnoticed by the others until she did something drastic, something completely unreasonable. Her struggle with her hairbrush earlier that day had been just the beginning. As the afternoon had progressed, her nerves had accumulated until they were like a cluster of flustered, furious bees swarming somewhere deep within her. She was a ticking time-bomb, silently sensitive to each jostle and shock it absorbed.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo  OutOfCharacter ❝This could use editing. Will do asap. Just wanted to post before I forgot that I hadn't X3
Song (Bon Iver) in main picture, outfit in second. ❞
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X x __ compos M E N T i S Captain
Quotable Conversationalist
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Posted: Mon Feb 14, 2011 3:56 am
  Angelo tried not to get caught up in the drama of the institution. Some might argue that it was because he had enough going on in his own head to keep him busy. But he knew some that might snidely remind him that that was likely the reason he was left friendless when the fat was boiled down. "Oh, ho, De Luca. Second thoughts?" Oh, shut up. Angelo put his shoulder to the wall of the bus, his eyes gazing blankly out the window.
This didn't seem so bad. It didn't have the feeling of doom about it that Angelo had suspected. Maybe the voices were wrong. Maybe it wasn't this trip that was going to be the end of them. "Those are the thoughts that'll get you killed." It was too tiring, wondering if death was around every corner. When doctors started coming at him with knives, maybe that was the time to worry. For now, for now Angelo was contented to feel that no one would be murdering him terribly.
Sleep caught the edges of Angelo's thoughts and burned them, so that one trailed into the other, losing their transition. Angelo's thoughts were liquid, flowing from one to another with little connectivity. Not that it mattered, these were the final waking thoughts he wouldn't remember when he woke. The bus, the passing road, it was all enough to lull Angelo to sleep.
Serena screamed. Angelo was jolted awake by the noise, his eyes burning with want for sleep. He glanced over the back of his seat, but could gather no clue as to what the outburst could be about. He shouldn't have been as surprised as it was, it seemed like Serena did a lot of screaming. All eyes on the crazy. The voices in Angelo's head hissed with delight at his own annoyance, and his pessimism. Heath, sitting beside Olympia, stood up and left. The weight of the bus shifted toward Serena, but Angelo couldn't be expected to spare her more than a passing glance-- she'd never held much interest for him.
"How can you save yourself when you hope to save others?" Selfishness, was what that was called. Self-centered. Egotistical. "That's called survival." It's called taking without giving, and Angelo's mother would've strongly disapproved. He felt a pang of guilt, as if the voices were some branch of his thoughts-- as if he could control them. Or maybe that was the way he really felt. "You're not responsible for them." If no one was responsible for another, what would become of the human race? "Only the strongest should survive." There's a damning statement. Angelo would never argue that he was one of the strongest. "It's never come down to it." And when it did? "You have to climb to the top, even if that means burying some at the bottom."
Angelo set his eyes out the window, inwardly cursing the voices. Decidedly, and in part expressing his frustration and inner turmoil, he turned away from the window, his eyes seeking out someone. Olympia, alone. Looking angry. Angelo prepared himself for the verbal beating the voices would deliver as he moved across the seat and set his shoulder to the back, facing her. "Olympia." He called to her, already feeling that this was a bad idea.
Hadn't he already harassed the poor girl enough?
Angelo suppressed whatever words had been about to rise to his lips, and asked instead: "Looks like you got blown off." True enough, at least, that was what it had looked like-- and that was well enough what he thought of Heath. "Male" or not, was there no chivalry? It had been drilled into Angelo as a child, and though he often disregarded it, there were some things that were simply rude. "You alright?"
She didn't look alright. She didn't look too out of order, but she certainly didn't look like herself-- whoever herself was, she wasn't usually that around Angelo anyway. The reasoning behind that was obvious enough-- he'd given her a lot of grief, aggravated the intense grip her OCD had on her. Angelo, though he had no reason to be, was incredibly proud-- he was unapologetic, even regarding his going out of his way to bother Olympia. Maybe that was what he was doing now, he doubted his interference was welcome, he wouldn't have blamed her if she'd asked him to leave her alone. Though she'd expressed that enough, as subtly as ever, and it hadn't seemed to work in the past.
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Posted: Mon Feb 14, 2011 9:47 pm
O L Y M P I A ♡ ALORAH ♡ M C G U I N N E S S missaisincrediblyepicjustincaseyouwondered it's all because of you; it's all because of you; it's all because of you
Her throat felt like it had been stuffed with stifling velvet and Olympia McGuinness was suddenly convinced she was fated to suffocate in the brittle, clattering bus. Her eyes were fixed on a speck on the seat before her. The substance that made up said speck was unidentifiable and therefore so absolutely repulsive that Olympia’s empty stomach churned and threatened to make her sick. Germs. Germs were crawling everywhere, clustering together and festively festering on every possible surface. And her hands. Oh, god, her hands. They were filthy and she could have sworn she could feel the germs swarming on her palm. Olympia itched at the palm of one hand with the closely trimmed nails of the other, as if she could scrape the germs away. She took comfort in the sensation, though she hardly realized the passionate extent of her action or how her palm was turning dangerously red as she clawed at the invisible contaminant.
She wanted to scream. Her lips pursed and she swallowed dryly, her breath quickening as she prepared to unleash the full extent of her angst. She wanted to leap out of her seat, rip herself away from any possibly germ-invested thing. She longed so heartily for the consistent cleanliness of the Institution, she briefly considering feigning an ailment and fleeing back when the bus would come to a stop. Oh, but they were too far away by now. And the strangers….the strangers she’d pass could pluck her off the side of the road and take here away from the Institution. Away from her safely sterilized room and meticulously maintained grounds.
“Olympia.” Her palms felt raw enough to make her almost flinch whenever her nails dragged across her flesh, but she couldn’t stop. Stopping was like surrendering, in her book. She was at war with her environment and the slightest hesitation could send her plummeting over the edge and into an abysmal state, a state where she had absolutely nothing to restrain her, no flimsy control on the situation at hand. It took her a moment register what she’d heard. When she did, her throat tightened. A small, cowering and reasonable voice chided her for replying. The last thing she needed was to be victim to another bout of harassment from her new companion.
But focusing on the conversation was helping her a little. It gave her a vessel with which to channel her anxiety. She wasn’t mad about Heath, exactly, but it would help her to pretend otherwise. Her expression didn’t change at first, though her eyes shifted away from the speck that sparked it all and settled on the countenance of Angelo De Luca. A sarcastic little smile pushed its way onto her mouth, struggling to replace the puckered purse. “Of course I’m alright.” The blonde patient managed, focusing on making her voice come out flippant. She was still writhing in the grip of her tantrum, but, curiously, its strength had subdued to the point of allowing her fairly coherent thought. That’s not to say that, if he dared provoke her, she would hold any of her tumultuous temper back.
“He was dirty, anyway.” She didn’t even pause to consider how her words might be misinterpreted by an eavesdropping party as she so usually did. She clenched her jaw and rose her chin just a little, subtly straightening her shoulders, and regarded him with purposeful coolness from her readjusted position. “What do you want?” Olympia asked after a stretch of silence, a silence she’d expected him to fill. She was wary of his attention and wondered if he left, whether or not her tantrum would swell back up like some great, terrible wave. Would it crash down on her and drag her under or would it just fleetingly touch her ankles before withdrawing? She waited for him to speak, all the while vacillating between thin, crumbling tolerance and quick, hot flashes of premature rage.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo OutOfCharacter ❝Erk. It could've been nicer. Sorry.
Song (Bon Iver-tba) in main picture, outfit in second. ❞
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X x __ compos M E N T i S Captain
Quotable Conversationalist
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Posted: Tue Feb 15, 2011 3:56 am
It wasn't hard to imagine that that was what she wanted, though. Maybe it was only his interpretation, but she seemed wound tight, even her response, sarcastic, and angry. Maybe they weren't yet dripping venom, but that was only because the poison hadn't been summoned up, yet. Maybe he should've been surprised, after all, this was not a face that Olympia had worn this morning. "She hates you." The voices advised him, But Olympia was going to have herself bleeding all over the bus by the time they got there.
Angelo doubted that would be even better, even if that was what she wanted, infection was a possible outcome. What then? He doubted they would turn the bus around for one ill patient. "What would they turn around for?" The voice chirped, seriousness had taken forefront in the tones. Angelo silenced himself, refusing to respond to it-- not that it did any good. He knew that tone, and he wasn't going to allow himself to become a puppet to his schizophrenia's wicked desires.
With gusto, Angelo returned his full and complete attention to Olympia. He figured scaring her with chants of "infection" would do little to help her, but her quick, gouging: "What do you want?" Set off a billion protests, each of them telling him to turn his stupid a** around, and look out the window-- enjoy the scenery. Let her tear all of her skin off, if that was what made her happy. Angelo was not spiteful by nature, but no one liked having their attempts at kindness thrown back in their face. What if someone had thrown mud at Scrooge, the day after Christmas?
"You didn't look alright." She still didn't look alright. There was likely nothing Angelo could say, he was likely better off minding his own business, let her do whatever she was doing-- let one of the "chaperons" handle it. There was a distasteful word. Angel was twenty-two years old, an adult by any standards, and he'd never held a job, never looked through colleges. He had someone follow him wherever he went, carrying a needle full of some tranquilizer "just in case".
"Ci siamo quasi." In that familiar voice. Anything that had previously been important to Angelo was, for a moment, relegated to unimportant. He looked up and out the window, where completely different scenery passed. It didn't not look like the kind of place where doctors would hide a slaughterhouse. All the same, though, Angelo couldn't completely bite back his nervousness.
Olympia. Cold as it seemed, Angelo had decided even before talking to her that there was nothing he could do for her. It was obvious she didn't care much for his presence, which was not, and had never been, unusual. "One of the chaperons should have hand sanitizer." He responded, if only to say something with a tone of finality. He doubted any amount of hand sanitizer would be enough for her, or that it would help at all.
[OOC: As it stands, I'm going to completely redo this. But the dialogue won't change, so it's safe to reply to. C=]
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Posted: Sat Feb 19, 2011 11:18 pm
O L Y M P I A ♡ ALORAH ♡ M C G U I N N E S S missaisincrediblyepicjustincaseyouwondered it's all because of you; it's all because of you; it's all because of you
Olympia’s set eyes flickered, her brows twitching as if they meant to knit together. What was he playing at? Her defiant pose deflated and her shoulders drooped back down into their usual position, curved just enough in to convey humbleness but straight enough avoid slouching. It was an unspoken rule, not to call notice to Angelo’s regular taunting. To acknowledge its effect on her was to expose a weakness she preferred to keep hidden. Some days, he was down right unbearable and Olympia would be forced to spew an excuse and hastily retreat back to her room, where she’d pace about furiously like a caged tiger. On his nicer days, the teasing and prodding prompted only mild irritation. But today, in this very moment, he was flipping the tables. He was being civilized at a time when her defenses weren’t focused on keeping him away, when her shields were weaker than usual, and when she was at risk of flying into a very messy fit. And that, she didn’t know how to handle.
Olympia’s furious fingers slowed just enough for her to feel the new rawness of her skin. She glanced down at her hand in surprise and felt her stomach tighten when she saw the abraded pink palm. She flipped her hand over hastily and pressed it against the fabric of her skirt, sucking in a sharp breath when the material made contact with the tender spot. His last sentence had a certain ring to it, one quite similar to the tone the nurses took when Olympia protested against treatment. That’s that. Before he could turn, Olympia spoke. It was impulsive and so unlike her that she was surprised to hear her own voice, to feel her lips move and deliver a question. “Angelo.” It began, undeniably curious, but relatively concealed with a thick layer of caution. There was a small pause as she collected her words. “Why aren’t you teasing me?”
The very second the words left her lips, she was struck by how incredibly childish they sounded. She regretted speaking instantaneously. What was she doing, exactly? Couldn’t she just be happy with his brief lapse out of belligerence? And why had he come to her if not to taunt her? She wanted to shake her head, to hastily negate the question with a “never mind” and to slip back into her solitary silence. But she didn’t and why she didn’t was beyond her. Instead, she sat still and tried not to think about germs or her scraped hand or the very real possibility that Angelo would unleash one of his infamously tortuous taunts. The bus rattled over a pothole and she instinctively reached her hand out to catch herself. The skin of her palm hit the faux leather seat before her with an electrifying sting. She pulled it back as quickly as she could and cradled it against her flat stomach, the fingers curled slightly as if to form a shield.
Before he could misinterpret the hasty question, Olympia spoke again. Hell, if she was going to be impulsive, she might as well take precautionary measures to try and clean up any mess her inquiry may have caused. “Don’t get me wrong. I mean…it’s just—we don’t talk much. I mean—sometimes we do, but you don’t like me, remember?” She trapped the next words behind pursed lips and squeezed her eyes shut for just a moment, pressing her fingertips to her temples and trying to quickly sort out and organize her own thought process. “God. This sounds rude. I’m sorry, I just…everything’s falling to pieces, y’know?”
She honestly didn’t think he would. How could he possibly understand the afternoon’s disorder was plaguing her? How could he even begin to know where she was coming from? Olympia let herself look at him, however reluctantly. It didn’t last long. After just half a beat, she found herself shifting her gaze away, to the seat back before her, to the clouded window, down to her curled hands and then up again to repeat the process. A little part of her almost hoped he’d stopped listening. Another little part so desperately hated the idea of being alone with herself that it almost wanted the company, even if said company was that of a bully.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo OutOfCharacter ❝
Song (still Bon Iver. Just because.) in main picture, outfit in second.
to be edited ❞
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X x __ compos M E N T i S Captain
Quotable Conversationalist
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Posted: Tue Feb 22, 2011 5:09 am
Why was he being nice? Why was he ever mean? Angelo was not, by nature, a cold or otherwise unkind person. The question received no explanation, and he forced a smile to light his expression, even as the voices called out against further communication with Olympia. "If you'd prefer..." He started, even before Olympia began to speak again. Talking about how they didn't talk much, reminding him about how he didn't like her. She covered her tracks fast, apologizing for how rude she'd sounded.
"Everything's falling to pieces, y'know?" Angelo's smile slipped, much as he tried to hang onto it. He knew the feeling, but rather than offer a real answer, he simply nodded. Olympia's gaze slipped away from him, glancing anywhere but in his direction, but he couldn't help but steal a glance at her while she wasn't paying him any attention. He wasn't sure what she expected of him, maybe a simple agreement, or maybe so far as an assurance that everything would work out. Before or after the field trip to the slaughter house? A voice rose above the others, and Angelo blinked hard, as if he could clear it from his head, his eyes fell to stare hard at the floor.
When Angelo felt it safe to look back up, the first thing he saw was smoke. Not a lot of smoke. The man puffed rings of it up at the ceiling, and Angelo wondered how he hadn't seen him before, sitting beside Olympia. His face turned toward the window, staring out at the rain as it washed against the side of the bus, shaking his head in mock disbelief. The man put the cigarettes to his lips and took a long drag, exhaling noiselessly, and finally turned to face Angelo.
Maybe Angelo had lost his "sane" composure, but the man had always had that effect on him. He turned his gaze on the empty seat beside him, and looked back at the man, sitting what felt like an unreachable distance away from him. "Perchè?" It shouldn't have seemed so important, the distance. But it was as if the man had switched sides, always he had been by Angelo's side, since he was a child, since the doctor's couldn't believe someone so young could be diagnosed with schizophrenia. They had offered any alternative.
The man shook his head, looking past Angelo and out his window, his expression unreadable. He didn't seem so surprised at the rain, anymore. His disinterest in Angelo lasted only a moment, for soon his full attention came to rest on him again. "Non importa." He answered cryptically, as his answers always were. He did not put the cigarette back to his lips, but simply stared. Watching to see what Angelo might do. He felt like a bug under a microscope.
The man seemed judging, already anticipating what Angelo was trying to gather the courage to say. He might've turned to ignore him, but there was no ignoring the man-- there never had been. In the past, maybe there hadn't been a reason to, but more and more the man seemed only to have bad news, bad news he wouldn't even share in a way that it could be understood. "Andare via." Angelo commanded, his voice dripping with a quantity of acid he'd never dared use, before. The man might've been shocked, aghast. It was not much of a command, but Angelo had never dared to tell the man what to do.
The man was not capable of emotion. He simply sat. But Angelo could almost feel the disgust radiating off of him. The man smashed his cigarette into the back of the seat in front of him, and the smoke stopped rising. Angelo attempted to swallow his apprehension, and keep his cool air. He knew it wouldn't fool him, but maybe he could trick himself into having some courage. "La tua madre--"
It was not a speech Angelo was willing to listen to. He cut the man off with all of the authority he could manage, his words aiming to hurt. "Per piacere." The man's eyes burned, perhaps with rage at being treated so disrespectfully, it was not unlikely. It was true, Angelo's mother had taught him better. She'd aimed to teach him about the worth of a person, and the importance of treating a person as you would like to be treated-- and maybe those lessons might have stuck, had she not been yanked off center stage with such abruptness.
[OOC: I couldn't think of anything to post, so I had Angelo lapse into some crazy. If you'd prefer I didn't, I don't mind redoing it. Just lemme know.]
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Posted: Tue Feb 22, 2011 8:01 pm
 O L Y M P I A ♡ ALORAH ♡ M C G U I N N E S S
She looked back at him quickly, as if hearing a response surprised her, her perplexed and concentrated stare swinging away from its previous focus out the window. But he wasn’t speaking to her and he most certainly wasn’t speaking in English. She followed his focus to an empty bus seat before flicking her eyes back towards him. For a moment there, she’d almost forgotten he was just as ill as the rest. And so she listened. Listening was good for her. She didn’t have to touch anything to listen. She listened as best she could to the fragments of a foreign tongue, to the seemingly one-sided conversation. She heard his tone change from curious to stinging and felt the need to once more check for the subject of his focus. The seat was still empty.
She watched him for a little longer than she supposed she should have. She watched and listened long enough to feel fractionally invested in the invisible interaction. Maybe that’s why she did what she did next. She leaned forward, towards the bothered boy, and let her eyes dart to the seat one more time before focusing them for good on Angelo De Luca. It was easier to look at him when he wasn’t looking back, she discovered. She almost felt untouchable, as if not really holding his attention made her less real than she was. She liked that.
Olympia let herself look a little longer, let herself analyze his features. She tended to forget he was human sometimes. Of course, in reality he wasn’t nearly as monstrous as she made him in her head and she was quite surprised to rediscover that he, too, had eyebrows and ears and lips just like the rest of the patients. It made her feel a little befuddled to find she’d made a demon out of a bully, a mountain out a molehill.
When she was sure he wasn’t about to eject pythons from his eye sockets, Olympia spoke. “What are they saying?” She nodded once towards the space he’d been staring at, as if he needed clarification. The question floated out almost carelessly on notes as soft as cashmere.
What made her brave enough—stupid enough—to talk so casually to him was the same thing that had been inspiring her impulsiveness all afternoon. She almost wanted to believe she’d caused her own wretchedly self-destructive change, that she held that much power over her needs and compulsions and disorder. But it was nothing like that. That very morning, her medication had been switched. The contents of her Dixie cup of pills had been changed. It was a new medication, a new pill she hadn’t bothered to check. She’d arranged her pills by color and size, sure, but she hardly bothered to check their markings. The pills had been a constant over the course of her stay at the Institution. Of all the things that went surprisingly wrong and surprisingly right, the pills had never changed.
But that morning, before she challenged herself with her hairbrush, before she found herself with Heath, before Serena had even cut herself again, Nurse Fitz had taken it upon herself to fix Olympia’s daily dose, because god knows that newbie, Shelby, wouldn’t get around to it.
Had Olympia known, it would’ve tortured her, knowing that something unknown had passed her lips without her consent. Had Olympia known, she would’ve figured out the tantrum’s brief appearance had nothing to do with her coming to her senses. Had Olympia known, she wouldn’t have allowed herself to speak so plainly to Angelo. But Olympia didn’t know. She didn’t know a thing.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo OutOfCharacter ❝
Song (First Train Home -Imogen Heap.) in main picture, outfit in second.
PS: Naww, Mentis. Lapsin' into the craziness was basically perfect.
PPS: The Smokey Man = superduper intriguing.
PPPS: (Last one, I swear). I know this could use a bucket's worth of editing, but I'm very exhausted. I hope it's passable. ❞
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X x __ compos M E N T i S Captain
Quotable Conversationalist
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Posted: Wed Feb 23, 2011 4:57 pm
He could apologize. Throw down his pride, if that was what it took. How much was it worth to him? Angelo nervously pulled at the collar of his shirt. "Look what you've done." What had he done? Obviously, the conflict started even before his seemingly harmless question. All he wanted was answers. Often, it was him who distributed them. Why the change of heart? Angelo swore he could smell smoke, just a hint of it, in the air. Polluting, but all the same it was welcome. A fragrance that reminded him of his mother.
"What are they saying?" Angelo wasn't sure when the transition had taken place, but the "real" reality settled back in place over his falsified world. He snapped out of it like a man waking from a trance, staring for just a moment longer, dumbly, after the man. Finally, he dragged his gaze away to rest on the blond, leaning closer than she had been previously. She had surprised him, he was visibly shaken, but it was a sensation he should've been somewhat accustomed to.
"He--he said..." Angelo had a confession. He was not the jaunty, open-book he'd always tried to write himself off as. He didn't want her to know what the man had said. "Something's wrong." It was only a moment's hesitation, something expected of a schizophrenic falling back into the real world. "Hear that? She just wants to know how crazy you are." It was a true enough statement, nonetheless, something was going on here.
"So what's the answer, de Luca?" Angelo doubted anyone would listen, it'd been a long time since he'd been simply written off as being paranoid. His suspicions meant next to nothing. "How crazy are you?" The bus came to an easy stop. Angelo zipped up his jacket, suddenly feeling some imaginary chill that felt as if it were creeping through his very bones. Outside, the sky was dark with rain clouds, but their destination was obvious.
A museum. It was not like the places they usually took their field trips. It was too crowded, there was too high a chance for incident, especially after what Serena had done. Why would they be brought here, when they could be more easily managed someplace else? Angelo would not take the fresh air and the moment among the sane for granted, though. In a seamless attempt to regain his composure, Angelo turned his attention back on the blond seated nearby. "Dorothy," he joked as lightheartedly as he found himself able, "I don't think we're in Kansas, anymore."
Nurses shuffled quickly along the bus, trying to get everyone ready. The museum was bustling. "Pull the curtain, this is Act One." A voice snickered maliciously.
[OOC: Short, I know.
And if it's not alright that I had them arrive, I'd like to be told.
It just seems like the only way to get people involved again.]
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Posted: Wed Apr 13, 2011 3:36 am
 |You shut your mouth|
|How d a r e you say|
|I go about things the w r o n g w a y|
|I am a h u m a n and I need to be l o v e d|
|Just like everybody else does| ▂▃▅▆█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌▌ 
One minute staring at Frank with hatred in his eyes, the next minute his eyes had closed and the demeanour of the bus had changed. Frank closed his eyes, and when they opened Heath was staring into a monster. Like an ice cube having been punched into his stomach, Heath’s face paled over the second Frank tucked his glasses into his collar. Frank needed those glasses to see. Billy needed those glasses to see. Richard didn’t. ‘ Oh god…F*** no…not now. Why now?’, What? Would you rather him have changed back while you were -alone- together? Heath’s blood ran cold.
“ Long time no see.”, That voice. That horrible, sadistic, voice permeated the air and sent shivers all over Heather’s body. Run! GET OUT of here. Heath wanted so badly to comply, but every muscle in his body was frozen solid. Rigidly shaking, Heath’s eyes welled up like a frightened cat, and all he could do was stare into those darker eyes. A person’s gut instinct told him that Richard could do anything he wanted to. He could hop over, push him down on the seat, and have his way with her and it would all be over. Horrific images flooded into Heath’s mind, and suddenly he was back on the floor by the couch. Remembering the feel of their experience whether he wanted to think about it or not. Feeling molested for five seconds, Heath felt all the hatred and rage rise up in his chest, even if those feelings were the only barrier keeping Heather from tearing up or crying.
“ I know you hate me, baby,” ‘ How DARE you call me baby! I am NOT your baby!’ Heath grimaced and glared with all his venom.
“ but you gotta admit, we had a good time.”, Unable to forget how his body had eventually surrendered to the sensational touch, vague shadows of ecstasy trembled underneath his clothes at the memory even as his heart filled with the bitterest bile. Heath did hate Richard with a passion, mostly because that monster was right. As much as he tried to deny it to save himself from being sneered at, or being ‘gay’, that forced entry had turned into a consensual entanglement, and his body had loved nearly every minute of it. Glaring so strongly with his entire face that his mouth trembled for a moment, he wished he had the willpower to spit in Richards eye to save face. But before he could move, or think, or do anything, Richard had hopped over the seat.
Screaming under his breath like a girl, Heath’s quiet noise had been an animalistic cry that sprouted from the desire to frighten his opponent. ‘ Like hell that’s going to work.’, also using the noise to strengthen and propel himself in a ‘flight of fancy’ Heath had planned on laying down and shoving the wall of the bus as if he was in a swimming pool to shove himself out from underneath wherever Richard was going to land. Unfortunately, that only worked in the movies. Pinned in a laying down position, to Heath’s ever shame, Richard’s knees were on either side of his hips with his hands holding down just under his elbows. Pinning him under him. Heath tightened his eyes shut. He couldn’t look at how close Richard’s crotch was to his own. It was only a few inches, but it could have been a foot away and his brain would have remembered what happened in the tv room. Just once, Heath was thankful that he didn’t have a male body. Or the truth would be horribly obvious. The shivers running through Heath’s nerves…the duck tape underneath his shirt certainly hid every other possible reaction from physically showing. Which only increased Heath’s hatred.
“ What do you want with me?”, Almost cursing the words out of his mouth, it took a great deal of restraint to keep his tone quiet enough for just those nearby to hear. Hopefully only Richard heard, and Heath just laid there; defeated. Truth be told, Richard had every power in the world to blackmail him, and he knew that well. ‘ I’m not moving, not saying anything, not crying out for help, just do whatever the f*** you want, and get off me. ’ Feeling like a bank teller with his hands in the air, metaphorically speaking, Heath just kept glaring up at Richard with a taut, hateful, face and pleading eyes. Just don’t tell them…Heath wordlessly begged, feeling the bus turn right as it entered the freeway. The museum couldn’t be too far. Whats the worst that could happen until then? With Richard…Heath couldn’t be sure.
▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌▆▅▃▂ |When you s a y it's gonna happen 'now'|
|When exactly do you m e a n?|
|See I've already waited too long|
|and a l l my h o p e is gone| [You skipping ahead was great! No worries <3 I just want to know what Nilla's responce is to this so we can skip up with you. I can ask her over YIM and then edit my post to move forward. But just let us move up a little first. sweatdrop ]
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Posted: Wed Apr 13, 2011 10:26 am
I'm definitely okay.
I'm not perfectly fine.
I'm thinking straight,
no, there's something wrong.
Just let me go, you're treating the wrong-
Go ahead, ask me anything... I remember it all.
It was funny when Heather just fell into submissive mode. She didn't fight back at all. Richard leaned is ear into the other's mouth as she whispered, he chuckled and turned his face. Their noses touched, they were too close, but Richard had no personal space issues what-so-ever. 'I'm not movi-... -ying anythi-... crying out for help... do whatever the ******** you wa..t.. get off....' Heather's voice rang, once again, in his head. But what surprised him was that the other's lips did not budge. Richard was confused, but he brushed his nose against hers/his in an 'eskimo kiss'. "What else do I want, Heathie-Baby? I already got what I want... Now all that's left is your torture." He whispered harshly. As soon as the bus stopped, he leaped off of Heather's body and sat beside her/him with an arm around their shoulder.
The sudden confusion hit him again as to why he heard Heather speak to him, so clearly and forcefully, but her lips did not budge even for a second. The uncertainty sent him flying backwards into darkness. He mentally screamed out for help, trying to grasp at anything around him but realized he was already gone and out of the physical realm. Who awoke then was the just as confused Frank. He looked down at his arm that was placed around Heath and he pulled it back. Just as quickly he had placed his glasses back on his face.
His lower lip quivered, expecting the guy to punch him in the face. Frank ran his shaking fingers through his curly hair and noted that the bus had stopped. He bit his lip then finally spoke, "I'm sorry, Heath... if.. if he did anything... please, please don't hate me." He started to stand and adjusted his clothes. "I wouldn't do anything to hurt you, Heath... you know me. But if he did do something, I can understand if you don't want to hang out with me today..." He looked away and started to walk down the aisle of the bus. The nurses were gathered by the front, waiting patiently for the rest of the patients to form a line.
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Posted: Wed Apr 13, 2011 5:49 pm
|You shut your mouth|
|How d a r e you say|
|I go about things the w r o n g w a y|
|I am a h u m a n and I need to be l o v e d|
|Just like everybody else does| ▂▃▅▆█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌▌
As if being underneath Richard wasn’t humiliating enough, the guy had to lean in and nuzzle his nose against Heath’s own in an Eskimo kiss. Infuriated, Heath’s mouth tightened aggressively. ‘ Like hell -he- wants anything ‘affectionate‘ from me.’ The Eskimo kiss was a sick joke, and Heather knew it. As soon as he began to lean in and whisper, Heath turned his head slightly so that he wouldn’t miss any part of Richard’s reply. Unfortunately, Heath wanted to know what the guy was going to say.
“ What else do I want, Heathie-Baby?” ‘ Heathie-Baby? What kind of stupid nickname is that?’, “ I already got what I want” Somehow, those words sounded like he had said: I don’t want you anymore, and Heather wanted to choke him. Squeeze his throat and shove Richard off of his body. “ Now all that‘s left is your torture.” ‘ That’s it, I‘m killing him.’, Knowing he -couldn’t- but daydreaming about it, Heath would have leaned forward to bite his large nose off if not for the fact that his best friend Frank inhabited the same body. Oh he’ll forgive you. He’d understand if Richard did something, the trouble was, Heath would have a hard time dealing with himself. He’d feel guilty for days, and biting Richard’s nose over a snide comment just wasn’t worth it. The point was to punish Richard another way. Heath just had to find out what that ‘way’ was so he could exact revenge. If Richard was no longer interested, then flirting with someone else was out. It wouldn’t work. Stolen from his thoughts, the bus came to a stop, and Heath just let Richard fold his arm around his shoulders.
‘ Oh you think this is going to embarrass me? That’s going to ‘get a response‘?’ Heath looked around the bus with a blank expression. Staying angry was unfortunately impossible, and the anger dissipated, but Heath couldn’t look at Richard, or he would get angry again. Infuriated again. Stupid, again. So he looked out the window, his eyebrows furrowing uncomfortably at seeing a Museum. ‘ This is what was so important? A Museum?’, seeing the prognostics of walking around a Museum with Richard’s arm around his shoulders (worst case scenario) Heath grimaced uncomfortably. Distracted by the Museum, Heath didn’t notice Richard disappearing back to Frank until the arm moved away and he sound of his glasses being opened turned his head to face him.
Frank was back, Heath could tell just by the change in body posture. Seeing the uncomfortable look of unease on Frank’s face, Heath almost felt guilty. Like it was his fault for being angry at so good a friend. Having almost completely ignored him for two to three weeks, that look just made Heath feel awful. It wasn’t Frank’s fault, and here he was, taking it out on him again.
“ I‘m sorry, Heath…if…if he did anything…please, please don‘t hate me.”, Frank started to stand, as everyone else seemed to be doing, so Heath stood as well; but, he kept his eyes on the floor as he pretended to dust off his jeans. Anything to keep from showing how seriously pissed off he was to his friend and thus make his friend feel horrible for no reason. Yeah, he was angry. Like hell he was talking to Frank about it. It was just one thing he would never be able to share with his friend.
“ I wouldn‘t do anything to hurt you, Heath…you know me. But if he did do something, I can understand if you don‘t want to hang out with me today…” ‘ Oh god, shut up. I don‘t want to hear it Frank. Stop apologizing for the rat b*stard.’ Glad when Frank walked away, Heath waited for Serena to get off of the bus before making his way past the aisles of seats. Exiting last, not counting the bus driver, Heath just wanted to take out his frustration on the seats and squeeze the leather into submission. ‘ Stupid…f*cking…*sshole…’, Heath was thinking of Richard of course, trying very hard not to blame Frank. It wasn’t his fault he was crazy. Wasn’t his fault. But Richard is a PART of him. Punish Frank for it! Heath didn’t want to listen, but the advice sounded so sweet and good. Storming down the bus steps, Heath stood nearby to Frank, but he didn’t talk to him. Or look at him, right away. God stop acting like this, just make things right before he blames himself. Poking Frank’s shoulder, Heath shoved his hands into his pockets.
“ I‘m not mad at you, okay? So just chill out. I‘ve been confused lately, that’s all. ”, Heath was about to add: We can hang out today when he remembered Olympia. ‘ Aww cr*p. Olympia…I just left her there.’, Not even suspecting that she would think he liked Serena in all this, Heath started to walk towards her, to apologize, when the ‘head nurse’ in charge began to speak.
“ Alright, everyone buddy up while we pay for your tickets. Serena your paired with Olympia. Mike; Angelo and…” The man playfully shoved at Frank’s shoulder.
“ Frank, your with Vans.”, Heath frowned, but not because he was disappointed. He cared a lot for his friend, and the idea of hanging out like the always did while he still felt angry just didn’t sit right with him. Plus, he had already asked Olympia to hang out. That definitely wasn’t right with Heath. Walking forward, Heath tried to tap the mans shoulder to complain, but he just shirked him off.
“ Doctor‘s orders Vans, if you have a problem with your partner talk to your psychologist.” Great. Shrugging it off, Heath playfully punched Frank’s upper arm. Well, tapping his arm, more really. Completely unaware of the motorcyclist wearing the black sunglasses watching the ‘kids’ step off of the bus, Heath smiled at his friend and walked in single file with the others into the Museum. The odd sensation of being followed pricking at Heath’s stomach. Something wasn’t right about this Museum. Sure it looked average and historically entertaining, but what was inside that they had to see? Heath usually shrugged it off, but today was different. Something felt…iffy…
“ Well isn‘t this Scholastic Fantastic?”, Heath thought Frank would find that funny, and smiled at his friend. Trying to make amends.
▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌█▌▆▅▃▂ |When you s a y it's gonna happen 'now'|
|When exactly do you m e a n?|
|See I've already waited too long|
|and a l l my h o p e is gone|
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Posted: Wed Apr 13, 2011 9:32 pm
|Don't {t h i n k} that your so great, cause being G R E A T must s-u-u-u-u-c-k| |My {h e a r t} is in the right place|
|So wipe that s-m-i-r-k right o f f your [face]|
|Don't make me feel like t-h-a-t|
|Cause that's [just] plain not nice|
▶▶▶▶▶▶▶▶▶▶▶▶▶▶▶▶▶▶▶▶▶▶▶ Zoned out for the entirety of the bus ride, Michael’s right hand had been jotting down little things and thoughts throughout the process. Out of habit, when the bus came to a stop and the young man jolted awake, Mike looked down at his scribblings to read them. La tua madre?…How DARE you call me baby…This might be the last time I’ll see my child…and he wont even know who I am…I’m not moving…not crying out for help…just do whatever the ******** you want and get off me…Michael raised his eyebrows in confusion. Out of the usual gibberish he wrote, that combination was just plain weird. ‘ Maybe I should write something constructive…something like a story or a poem…that makes sense.’ Shaking his head, Michael flipped his notebook to an empty page when he looked out of the window and saw a Museum. ‘ We‘re probably going to be taking notes.’, Clipping his pen between the pages, Mike hopped out of the bus before most of the people climbed out and just stood there near the door; watching the Museum.
‘ Experience the horrors of the WW2 Holocaust from a realistic perspective.’, Reading a billboard, Mike really hoped that wasn’t the exhibit that their group was going to see. Looking around, he saw another exhibit about cavemen, and a final section concerning the titanic. Strangely enough, the Titanic exhibit didn’t sound half bad, and if he had to chose which one he would rather chart down notes for, at least the Titanic had a cheesy Hollywood movie they could watch back in the tv room. Schindler’s List was a very depressing movie. Not to mention long, but that exhibit was probably the most important. How it related to mental patients? Oh…there were some similarities. Similarities that Mike didn’t want to think about.
“ Alright, everyone buddy up while we pay for your tickets. Serena your paired with Olympia. Mike; Angelo…”, Shrugging his shoulders, Mike complied to their instructions and walked close to Angelo. They didn’t talk as often as he would like, but they got along somewhat okay. Especially on a gloomy die like today when Mike was in a susceptible mood. Pointing at the Holocaust exhibit banner, Mike propped his notebook underneath his arm against his side and looked into Angelo’s eyes with a nonchalant expression on his face.
“ Do you think we‘re going there?”, Mike didn’t think they had to ask. Once everyone started walking, that was probably where they were headed.
◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄◄ |We don't a l w a y s see the [bright] side|
|And I lied when I said I was fine|
|You s l a p p e d my face today|
But I have licked my w o u n d s and {c a r r i e d} on
|Reality is {t r u l y} scaring me|
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Posted: Wed Apr 13, 2011 10:12 pm
O L Y M P I A ♡ ALORAH ♡ M C G U I N N E S S missaisincrediblyepicjustincaseyouwondered it's all because of you; it's all because of you; it's all because of you
Olympia pulled a face—a sort of intentionally comical wince—at her…well, at her usual tormentor’s last comment. “I’m jealous of Aunty Em.” She replied, partially emptying her lungs with a weary sigh. Her eyes flicked out towards the window and the laughably ominous museum behind it. She might’ve liked museums, had she not been so consumed with worry about germs every time she was forced to touch something. Feeling generous and a little bit drunk off her newfound carelessness, Olympia offered Angelo a half-smile. It was genuine enough, the little movement, but she made an effort to keep it flimsy should he suddenly change his mind about being nice to her and should it need to disappear quickly.
She’d just begun to wonder why she didn’t feel the urge to count as she so usually did whenever she should feel marginally nervous when the unmistakably authoritative voice of a nurse rang in her ears. She listened just long enough to hear her name and partner—she’d think more about the latter later—before letting the individual words fade together into a pleasant, unremarkable hum. She tried counting—one, two, three, four—but the rhythm of numerical recitation did nothing to make her feel any better or worse. She supposed she should have felt a sense of forbearing, of some unmentioned danger waiting to pounce the second she got off of the bus and seize her, and waited curiously for any sign of her usual worries. She almost began to worry about her lack of worry when she felt a little tap on her shoulder. A kindly nurse—one she could never quite remember the name of—stood before her seat, blocking her access to the aisle, and held out her hand. In it sat a reseal-able box of familiar latex gloves. The petite blond stared at the offering for a heartbeat before she remembered she was supposed to want it.
Olympia took the gloves with a bewildered little “Thanks,” and wiggled her fingers into them. The tight pressure around her hands was reassuring, but hardly enough for her to remember why she needed them. She found herself thinking of germs and how many there were to test her theory. She ran through scenarios, thought of each location harboring germs then thought about the person who’d gotten them there and then thought about what dirty object the person had encountered to give them such a vile passenger to transport. But, though she thought in a decidedly dark tone, no rush of anxiety welled up in her chest. Olympia almost wanted to worry about something, worry about the bus leaking gas and the driver smoking outside, or even worry about not worrying, but no number of grisly situations could stir her. Olympia blinked slowly, as if trying to reorient herself, and stood.
She briefly considered waiting in her seat for Serena to emerge from the back of the bus, but found herself lurching forward and away from the faux-leather and bounding down the three short steps of the bus, propelled by some unnamed force, until her feet hit the wet asphalt and she could feel the wet chill of the air. She shivered in her light sweater and crossed her arms over her chest, craning her neck to look up at the impressive museum front for a few beats until she was sure no age-old decorative gargoyle was going to topple off a precarious perch, before turning her back to the building, taking a little hop back, and waiting for the rest to make their ways out of the bus. She hopped in place briefly, as if the short movements could help significantly warm her, and let her attention wander. Ah. There they were. There were her friends and her foes, her worry for self-preservation and her affliction. Finally, her nerves had reappeared. She felt very small, very vulnerable, standing alone in the parking lot, though her ‘friends’ were just a few feet away and up and almost fell—her knees did actually weaken—when she registered what she’d done. It usually took her ages and countless reassurances that, no, the bus wasn’t going to cease its existence of she got out, just leave the doorway. And there she was, alone for the most part, feeling the world come down around her with sudden, overwhelming force. She took a step back, as if her view of the world was from behind a window still and as if the movement could distance her from it, before realizing there was nothing to shield her.
She felt several things at once. The most prominent feeling was one of fear. Not fear of something happening in the future, but fear in the moment itself. Had she been asked, Olympia wouldn’t have been able to say exactly what it was she was afraid of, only that, in that moment, she was consumed with it. She felt like she was choking, though her throat was clear, and as if her heart were playing irregular games of advanced hopscotch. She felt hot. She felt cold. She felt dizzy and actually swayed. But then came the worst of it. She felt as if she were simultaneously unreal and too real to bear. She was detached, but also exceedingly attached to each aspect of her situation. Olympia worried in passing about dying and decided she’d hate for her last sight to be that of a commercial bus’s gritty xd windows. She turned her head just a bit and found she couldn’t move after settling her focus on a streetlight. It wasn’t much better, in truth, but her neck had seized up and she couldn’t budge. She felt something build within her and became quite convinced that she was having a heart attack at age nineteen. It was then that she heard a little, electric crackle from somewhere above her—more specifically, from the lamp top--and the deadly weight pressing against her lifted. Olympia felt her limbs loosen and staggered a step before they reset themselves. She sucked in a ragged breath and squeezed her arms tighter and her eyes farther shut until she was absolutely sure it was gone.
Then she opened her eyes and began to wonder what the hell had just happened.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo OutOfCharacter ❝
Song (ralsfnasfn.) in main picture, outfit in second. ❞
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Posted: Thu Apr 14, 2011 6:04 pm
Peter Morris had walked around towards the back of the Museum wearing a casual black coat with sunglasses covering his face. Well, to say ‘back’ one truly meant the roof. Peter Morris was on the roof, hiding out beneath a decorative column to keep from being bombarded with the rain. Sure enough, like clockwork, Peter saw a white, unmarked, van driving towards the parking lot behind the museum. Only the Museum Curators were allowed to park there, so it was obvious that the van wasn’t planning on staying. Only one reason came to Peter’s mind, and it was just as he had seen in that vision he had experienced upon touching Dr. Bale’s doorknob.
‘ The Van‘s here Tim…they‘re taking one of them tonight.’, If anything, Tim hoped it wasn’t any of their children. Who knew if they would be able to find them again if they never brought that ‘patient’ back to Maxwell. Watching through binoculars, Peter simply waited. Hoping, praying, that when the young adult was brought to the van, that he would be quick enough to get out of the Museum and follow the van. Foolish as it was, he had to at least try. Thankfully, Tim would be outside…on his motorcycle…able to follow the van if they snatched up one of the ‘patients’ tonight.
“ Alright Peter. We‘re heading inside.” WE? Tim didn’t need to go in there. In frustration, Peter just wanted to smack him. Of course he was going in there to get a glimpse of his daughter. Selfish B*stard. ‘ TIM! They could be leaving in five minutes! Wait by the motorcycle!’Of course Peter didn’t get a response right away. He had to wait an entire impatient minute of watching the men in black step out of that van and walk inside wearing their shades before Tim finally piped up an answer.
‘ I‘ll only be a few minutes. Mike looks good. ’, Don’t try and distract me. Of course Peter wanted to see his son and couldn’t. That vicious tease. Forced to do nothing but wait, Peter watched that Van for almost fifteen minutes before Peter thought he saw movement in the back exit. ‘ Tim there‘s movement…’, He didn’t hear a reply, but he knew that Tim could hear him. Seeing what looked to be a young man being shuffled into the back of the van, Peter switched a turn on his binoculars to try and see the young person’s face. Michael! Fearing that it was his son, he fumbled with the binoculars in trying to find the man’s face. Just one sheer second before the body was thrown into the van, Peter took an easy breath. Whoever they stole, it wasn’t Michael or Frank.
‘ They took Angelo, Tim…’, Peter sank on the rooftop, letting the rain pound against his back.
‘ I know…we saw…’
[I made part of this post to happen in the future. We wont go too much into Angelo's capture. Mike is just going to be walking and then notice he's gone. But Maybe Tim and Maggie might see him being carted off willingly towards another exhibit.]
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