We've mastered the art of breaking apart and falling so fast...
[[OOC: No one should feel the need to tag this, unless so compelled. I just needed to get it out of my head, as they were both being little bitches. So... No stress! XD]]
It's raining in Chicago tonight. Not a heavy rain, just a light summer rain with occasional hints of heat lightning. It's a gloomy night, but some people like that sort of thing.
There's a construction site in Chicago that's been abandoned for almost a year now. No one's so much as touched it since then, apparently, and that's where one Desmond Descant finds himself at this moment. He stuck around long enough to make sure the Doctor was properly taken care of, as far as the ferret thing was concerned, and then promptly fled the area. He needed some time to decompress.
So he came here. To the least happiest place on earth. Des was only here for a little while, rescuing hostages and then, again, to rescue the Doctor's things, but given everything that's happened, this was the first place he thought to go. It seemed somehow appropriate. Or something.
The room they kept the hostages in hasn't changed much, if you discount the various animal leavings and the bird nests in the rafters. Rusted over handcuffs are still stuck to poles, ancient dried blood can still be vaguely seen in patches on the floor. A pile of old, disused torture implements lie in a pile (mostly the stuff that people lurking in the area who might have paid a visit didn't deem worthy of stealing) and Des gets at them in an annoyed fashion and then paces the length of the room restlessly.
It's not even the trial that's got him so pissed off. That's just the proverbial cherry on his shit cake. No, he's bitchy because the Doctor was willing to fucking lose everything just to not have to deal with anything anymore. That hurts. Des could handle his evasive, flighty attitude when he was just running off to Italy. He may not have liked it, but, at least, the man he just so happens to be in love with is the man he just so happens to be in love with somewhere, even if it's not here with him and Martha. Trying to eradicate his own conscious mind to be a ferret forever is not on, and Des just knows that the Doctor had to have been aware of that. The Doctor's smart. He figures things out like that.
Des grits his teeth and punches the nearest wall so hard, he shakes a bit, and then proceeds to yowl, because that was a lot fucking easier to do when he was immortal. He checks his fingers to make sure he hasn't cracked his knuckles beyond repair with a grimace and then sinks to the floor.
He'd send the Doctor far away, himself, just to keep him from having to deal with the trial. The Doctor doesn't deserve to have to deal with that, not after everything that happened in this room. But he can't abide the thought of losing him forever... Not like that. Eventually, he'll talk to him about it, work through the reasons, maybe find out that it doesn't mean what he thinks.
Right now, he's just going to be pissed off and depressed in the last place he really needs to be right now.
~*~
Of course, the other last place anyone should be when depressed and pissed off is a graveyard in the middle of a rain shower, but if Julian Sark really cares, he's not saying as much. He's been out here long enough to be soaked and yet he just keeps pacing restlessly in front of one grave in particular, ignorant of the fact, for the moment, that he's likely to catch his death of cold.
I will not be made a victim. I will not stand there and admit that I failed and, most importantly, I will not tell a collection of various strangers that I betrayed the only person I gave a damn about at the time, because I was too afraid to die.
Someone read the journals today. Someone's not too enthused about the news.
Someone is really not sure what the hell he's supposed to do about this.
The heat lightning flashes, illuminating a name on the gravestone he's been pacing in front of- a name that's only half true.
"You wouldn't have wanted me to do it anyway, would you?" He practically whispers through gritted teeth.
That's not as reassuring as it should be. Neither is taking to an empty grave, but fuck if he knows what he's supposed to do. It's not like he's ever been in this situation before.
God, he's never wanted to go home as badly as he does right now.
It's raining in Chicago tonight. Not a heavy rain, just a light summer rain with occasional hints of heat lightning. It's a gloomy night, but some people like that sort of thing.
There's a construction site in Chicago that's been abandoned for almost a year now. No one's so much as touched it since then, apparently, and that's where one Desmond Descant finds himself at this moment. He stuck around long enough to make sure the Doctor was properly taken care of, as far as the ferret thing was concerned, and then promptly fled the area. He needed some time to decompress.
So he came here. To the least happiest place on earth. Des was only here for a little while, rescuing hostages and then, again, to rescue the Doctor's things, but given everything that's happened, this was the first place he thought to go. It seemed somehow appropriate. Or something.
The room they kept the hostages in hasn't changed much, if you discount the various animal leavings and the bird nests in the rafters. Rusted over handcuffs are still stuck to poles, ancient dried blood can still be vaguely seen in patches on the floor. A pile of old, disused torture implements lie in a pile (mostly the stuff that people lurking in the area who might have paid a visit didn't deem worthy of stealing) and Des gets at them in an annoyed fashion and then paces the length of the room restlessly.
It's not even the trial that's got him so pissed off. That's just the proverbial cherry on his shit cake. No, he's bitchy because the Doctor was willing to fucking lose everything just to not have to deal with anything anymore. That hurts. Des could handle his evasive, flighty attitude when he was just running off to Italy. He may not have liked it, but, at least, the man he just so happens to be in love with is the man he just so happens to be in love with somewhere, even if it's not here with him and Martha. Trying to eradicate his own conscious mind to be a ferret forever is not on, and Des just knows that the Doctor had to have been aware of that. The Doctor's smart. He figures things out like that.
Des grits his teeth and punches the nearest wall so hard, he shakes a bit, and then proceeds to yowl, because that was a lot fucking easier to do when he was immortal. He checks his fingers to make sure he hasn't cracked his knuckles beyond repair with a grimace and then sinks to the floor.
He'd send the Doctor far away, himself, just to keep him from having to deal with the trial. The Doctor doesn't deserve to have to deal with that, not after everything that happened in this room. But he can't abide the thought of losing him forever... Not like that. Eventually, he'll talk to him about it, work through the reasons, maybe find out that it doesn't mean what he thinks.
Right now, he's just going to be pissed off and depressed in the last place he really needs to be right now.
~*~
Of course, the other last place anyone should be when depressed and pissed off is a graveyard in the middle of a rain shower, but if Julian Sark really cares, he's not saying as much. He's been out here long enough to be soaked and yet he just keeps pacing restlessly in front of one grave in particular, ignorant of the fact, for the moment, that he's likely to catch his death of cold.
I will not be made a victim. I will not stand there and admit that I failed and, most importantly, I will not tell a collection of various strangers that I betrayed the only person I gave a damn about at the time, because I was too afraid to die.
Someone read the journals today. Someone's not too enthused about the news.
Someone is really not sure what the hell he's supposed to do about this.
The heat lightning flashes, illuminating a name on the gravestone he's been pacing in front of- a name that's only half true.
"You wouldn't have wanted me to do it anyway, would you?" He practically whispers through gritted teeth.
That's not as reassuring as it should be. Neither is taking to an empty grave, but fuck if he knows what he's supposed to do. It's not like he's ever been in this situation before.
God, he's never wanted to go home as badly as he does right now.