you ain't never been blue
On a long enough timeline, they say, the survival rate for everyone drops to zero. This is true in both death and disappearance. We don't know where we go when we leave this place... Whether or not we return home, minds wiped, or if we simply... Vanish. Blink out of existence. After five years, we have no answers... Just best guesses and as many hypotheses as there are people. The big questions -- the whys and the hows -- are still just that: questions.
The whens, though... Those are getting easier to predict. I've been on this island for over two years, and in that time, I've been... Observing. Recording. Identifying. It's not down to a science -- this place, this petri dish defies too many rules to be pinned down by something as rational as science -- but there are signs. A test of intelligence is being able to recognize patterns in data, and having been here for over two years, I've amassed a lot of data. And, frequent accusations of being an idiot aside, I'm not stupid.
Jamie Madrox tried to punch a hole through the classroom wall.
The wall, unsurprisingly, won.
Pain exploded in his hand, flesh tearing from his knuckles as he pulled back with a solid jerk of his arm. Blood dripped onto his shoes, the floor. He'd been keeping it together since the news of Rahne's disappearance first broke, had gone through the pointless motions of looking for her before going through the pointless motions of teaching his classes. He was alone in the room, now, his students only dismissed just a few minutes prior, marking the first time he'd been without some kind of audience all day. The façade of grim understanding slipped from his grasp the moment the last student had slipped through the door.
He was no stranger to loss. Among other people, the forces behind the Island had stolen the closest person he had to a mother, not for the first time, but for a devastating second. Exes and best friends followed, as did students, co-workers. In the past, he'd met such news with quiet grief. Brushes with alcoholism.
But Rahne's disappearance was the proverbial straw. There would be no acceptance, not yet. Raw, burning anger gripped at his heart and refused to let go, a physical ache dulled only by his bloodied hand. A wordless yell ripped from his throat, and he punched at the wall again with the same fist, yielding similar results.
He could claim sanity only because he hadn't expected differently.
Set to Saturday NIGHT, right after Jamie's acting class. Wide open to anyone and everyone, despite the circumstances. New threads accepted until noted otherwise.
The whens, though... Those are getting easier to predict. I've been on this island for over two years, and in that time, I've been... Observing. Recording. Identifying. It's not down to a science -- this place, this petri dish defies too many rules to be pinned down by something as rational as science -- but there are signs. A test of intelligence is being able to recognize patterns in data, and having been here for over two years, I've amassed a lot of data. And, frequent accusations of being an idiot aside, I'm not stupid.
Jamie Madrox tried to punch a hole through the classroom wall.
The wall, unsurprisingly, won.
Pain exploded in his hand, flesh tearing from his knuckles as he pulled back with a solid jerk of his arm. Blood dripped onto his shoes, the floor. He'd been keeping it together since the news of Rahne's disappearance first broke, had gone through the pointless motions of looking for her before going through the pointless motions of teaching his classes. He was alone in the room, now, his students only dismissed just a few minutes prior, marking the first time he'd been without some kind of audience all day. The façade of grim understanding slipped from his grasp the moment the last student had slipped through the door.
He was no stranger to loss. Among other people, the forces behind the Island had stolen the closest person he had to a mother, not for the first time, but for a devastating second. Exes and best friends followed, as did students, co-workers. In the past, he'd met such news with quiet grief. Brushes with alcoholism.
But Rahne's disappearance was the proverbial straw. There would be no acceptance, not yet. Raw, burning anger gripped at his heart and refused to let go, a physical ache dulled only by his bloodied hand. A wordless yell ripped from his throat, and he punched at the wall again with the same fist, yielding similar results.
He could claim sanity only because he hadn't expected differently.
Set to Saturday NIGHT, right after Jamie's acting class. Wide open to anyone and everyone, despite the circumstances. New threads accepted until noted otherwise.