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 Posted: Sun Jan 25, 2015 3:43 am
Wilson Hopkins - Death Hunter
Room 269
gas cannon, formerly a catoblepas "Dabir" Horace slid the nearly blank sheet of paper back into his folder, frowning just a bit. The plain folder had contained other information, but not much, just enough so that Horace wasn't going in blind. Of course, everything except the very first page had been compiled by Horace. They had given him the man's name, room number, that he'd recently been unpodded, and the instructions to go 'help a death bro out'. Which meant Horace was to somehow bring Wilson up to speed in the space of an afternoon. So Horace had gone diving. For a division that prided itself on knowing things, the higher-ups certainly seemed to like making their hunters work for that knowledge. It seemed an unnecessary step, he thought. Possibly dangerous omissions, although he doubted it mattered here. Still, he'd scrubbed through the records. There was a surprising amount of information kept public, but an even larger amount he didn't have clearance to view. Jannisari's irritation matched his own at blacked out boxes and simply the knowledge that there was more. But Horace made do and devoured mission reports and whatever was available to him. And then, he'd made a neatly bulleted list of everything he might have to tell him. He wondered, of course, why a trainee was chosen. Perhaps it was to ease the man back in slowly or it was because they only wanted Wilson to have trainee-level knowledge for now. Even the reason for Wilson's podding wasn't entirely clear - the hunter been podded for insubordination by absence. But, thusly armed with the base information he'd gathered, Horace climbed the stairs and rapped on Wilson's door at exactly 3pm. "Wilson Hopkins?"
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Posted: Sun Jan 25, 2015 11:14 pm
There was something about living on the island that scared Wilson, or was it something about living as a hunter? Was it something about living in general? The way parts of his heart twisted and crumbled into new shapes while other chambers remained still as stone. If he looked inside himself there were certain things that remained indelible—his name was Wilson Hopkins, he liked to play the viola, when he was nervous he played with a Rubik’s cube—little things that reminded him of who he was (were?) When he looked in the mirror he could smile and it was like nothing had changed in the past year. It was like he had never been jammed into a pod for x months and dreamed the same dreams x times.
But then his hands would reach up, nails digging vertical lines down his face and sometimes he could see his skin literally peel off to reveal the musculature and blood vessels. There was no pain, just dull fascination as he let his jaw move and he watched the muscles move to follow. He could pull away strips of muscle, his fingers stained red with each torn muscle until there was only pearly bone. His mouth would move, but the voice wouldn’t be his There you go again, you good-for-nothing, you failure, you weak, spineless child—
A strange voice called his name; a sudden snapback to reality. Wide eyes stared at his reflection, one hand gently sliding down his smooth skin before he exited the bathroom. “Coming,” he called in a clear voice. One hand reached for the door while the other reached for his nearly-forgotten coffee. The worry lines had nearly disappeared from the corners of his eyes when Wilson finally opened the door. “Hello?”
Playing normal was an easy game.
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Posted: Tue Jan 27, 2015 1:14 pm
Horace smiled, a little nervously. "Hey, I'm Horace Nokoni." He shuffled the folder under his arm so that he could extend a hand for a shake. "Little birdie told me you'd been popped out of a pod recently and needed to be brought up to speed on stuff." The little birdie had been some death intermediate, shoving an assignment off on him because she didn't want to do it. "Is now an alright time? If not, I can come back whenever. Up to you." He cast a critical eye over Wilson, seeing nothing more than a perfectly pleasant Asian man.
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Posted: Thu Jan 29, 2015 10:40 pm
“I would introduce myself, but you already know my name,” he laughed, but not quite enough to show his dimples. He took a sip from his coffee while staring curiously at the hand before realizing the other hunter’s intention. “Ah.” Nervous laughter as Wilson’s free hand reached for a firm handshake. “Recently, sort of, I mean it feels like I’ve been out for a while now. I just..haven’t done much.” He looked away briefly, hesitantly grinning.
“Now is always an alright time!” He stepped aside, sweeping his arm across the room. “It’s not much, but make yourself at home.” There were a few items and clothes scattered about, but otherwise there wasn’t much to tidy up anyways.
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Posted: Tue Feb 03, 2015 2:44 pm
He rubbed the side of his head as he entered Wilson's room. "No worries. I'm sure it takes a right while to get re-adjusted." Horace looked around the room, but it was as non-descript as the man in front of him. Strange. It was hard to equate this man to the idea of being podded for absence and insubordination. Appearances were deceiving. Gingerly, he took a seat on a chair and tried not to stare at the man's coffee. "So, there's a random amount of information I've got here, mainly about clones." He flipped his folder open. "Anything you wanna know first?"
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Posted: Sun Mar 15, 2015 7:30 pm
“Not really,” he lied with a gentle smile, his fingers tapping against the warm porcelain of his mug. In a way it was true. His duties were the same; his routine hadn’t changed at all; the people were relatively the same. The only thing that had really changed was him. His head hung over his coffee. As his bangs obscured his face, Wilson stared at his vague reflection—empty eyes, relaxed muscles, no feelings whatsoever. His fingers kept tapping as he tried to remember what normal interaction looked like.
He squeezed his eyes, struggling to string the steps together. “Okay.” Finally, the hunter looked up with a polite, albeit confused expression. “Clones? Um. Well.” His thoughts swirled around old stories, plotlines, actors, what other movies the actors had participated in—
“W-Who was it of? The clones, I mean.”
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