(no subject)

Oct 08, 2011 00:42

He'd lost track.

First, it had been the days. Days of the week were something he'd had a rather tenuous hold on, for quite some time. That alone was nothing to get worked up over. He'd used little markers to tell him what day of the week it was, in the institution. The desert served to him, on any given day, for instance. Peter had been born on a Wednesday. Or was it a Thursday?

The worst deeds of his life, he relieved, every day. No, that wasn't right. In reality, he remembered very little about those very worst days. They might have occurred on a Monday, or a Sunday, or any other day of the week, whose names he could recall, but not their significance.

He'd lost the days of the week, then he'd lost the name of that lovely girl with the glasses, who worked so often in the labs. But that wasn't much of a loss, either, considering he'd never learned her name in the first place.

He'd lost his way to the Compound, having wandered out for a bit of air, and when he'd finally found his way home, he'd lied and told Agent Dunham he'd had a lovely day in the pastures with Gene. The next day, he got himself well and truly baked, and he'd attempted to paint directions on the floor of the compound, to all the most important destinations in the building, before being stopped quite literally red handed -- it was the only shade of paint he'd been able to find.

But those lapses of memory, of judgement, were nothing new. It wasn't unusual for him to wander from his room in the middle of the night, perhaps for a midnight snack or a bit of light reading. But that night, he'd wandered from his room, murmuring to himself, wearing only boxers and the sheet from his bed wrapped around his shoulders.

He'd slipped out of the Compound, barefoot, and perhaps he was yelling at the stars, or someone else entirely. Yelling to whatever entity had seen fit to take his son from him. He could not recall how many days it had been since they'd been together, nor the day of the week on which their separation had occurred. All he knew was the increasing sense that he was losing his anchor to reality, without his son there at his side.

[[Find Walter outside the Compound, or in the surrounding area, muttering or shouting to himself, in the dead of night. He's wearing only boxer shorts and a bedsheet, and he's traipsing around on bare feet, so it would be nice if you could lure him back inside. Open to all, ST/LT always welcome.]]

charles xavier, cameron winklevoss, valkyrie cain, sam flynn, dr. walter bishop, mark zuckerberg, rory williams, fred burkle, olivia dunham, natalia romanova

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