Prompt Post: ROUND FOUR
ROUND FOUR IS CLOSED
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<< ROUND THREE | ALL ROUNDS | ROUND FIVE >>
Rules post.
Posting Guidelines.
Flat view.
Updates Post (WIPs only)
Fills Post (completed Fills only)
damalur's firstclasskink on Delicious.
Volunteers always welcome.
There is a delay on comments appearing when there is a URL in the message body. This is due to an LJ anti-spam ( Read more... )
Charles is already reaching forward with his mind as the car turns into the road up to the house. Reaching desperately for a sign that Moira had been wrong and that his students were safe and sound; for the hot, static feel of Alex practicing his aim in the bunker, for sight of Sean singing high and free up in the air above the trees, for the bright, busy mind of Hank in his lab. But there’s nothing. The house is as empty and echoing as an abandoned shell, with not even a whisper of life anywhere.
He’s opening the car door before Moira has properly braked and his cane half slips on the loose gravel of the drive and he stumbles and almost falls, but he recovers before Moira can get round the car to help him and limps as fast as he’s able toward the front door.
The front door which is open, hanging awkwardly from its hinges like a heavy weight was thrown against it. Charles puts a hand out to touch the old, seasoned oak - suddenly reluctant to go inside and find more evidence for the fears his heart is screaming at him.
Behind him Moira says tentatively “Charles…” but he doesn’t look back at her, forces himself to step into the entrance hall.
There’s scorch marks on the banister and panelling of the grand staircase, and the stone of one of the granite pillars that holds up the arch leading to the left wing is cracked and pitted like it’s been subjected to great heat. Every piece of glass or ceramic he can see has been shattered, with tiny, glittering fragments piled by the windows like snow drifts formed from diamonds.
Moira gasps and says “Oh god!” but it’s as though he’s hearing her from very far away, all of his attention caught by what he’s seen on the bottom steps of the stairs. He walks forward, and his right hand is shaking as he leans more heavily on his cane, his leg trembling.
There are several tufts of blue hair scattered on the polished wood of the staircase. One of them lifts up on the draft of air coming through the open door and floats down to land in the small damp mark on the floor just before him. The mark is wet and it’s red and it’s about the size of his palm and he stares at it for several very long seconds before he makes himself acknowledge that it’s blood.
He lifts his head and, with no hope of success, casts his mind out through the house one last time.
There’s no-one here. The children are gone.
They’ve taken his kids.
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oh anon TT___TT OH, ANON. you havent even started the best bits yet and i'm already apprehensive to what Charles is gonna do. omgomgomg for moment there i had a flash of Wanted!James during his siege of the Fraternity and i swear i cringed so hard. WAITING FOR MORE. THIS IS LIKE DRUG. DO NOT LET ME FALL INTO WITHDRAWAL.
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