(no subject)
Who: Erik, Adrian Monk, anyone else I suppose
When: Day 31
Where: Town Square
Erik did not appreciate being pulled from his room. It was not comfortable. He had not eaten and had slept only by accident. But after the incident with the rude young man, Erik had been loathe to leave his room, even to seek other lodgings. Perhaps that night...
He had fallen asleep again.
Thus far, Purgatory was turning out to be a disappointment. He had not expected to be entertained. (He had, in fact, expected to die and thereby enter a blessed Nothingness, confirming his vision of the world as a place where life meant nothing at all. Instead, he was a town that looked American, which only confirmed his vision of the U.S. as a cultural wasteland. For all he knew, this was really what it was like. But what was the point of it all?
It became no clearer when the urge came, like nothing he'd ever felt before. Erik, in later years, only ever left his lair for very good reasons, compelling all on their own. He was not given to the urge to wander. And yet, now, it began to hurt, the longer he remained seated on his bed.
He wondered if he were hungry. He could not remember eating last, but he seldom ate much anyway and often went for long periods of time without eating or noticing whether he had. He tried to remember--did hunger feel like this?
But when he rose, cloak still swirling around him, to see if there was food to steal, the urge seemed to tug at him to leave the building. He resisted, brow furrowing in concentration, but eventually gave in and followed it. Curiosity, he told himself. Not the urge itself. He would be prepared for anything, even Rose Tyler.
Erik's feet led him along shadows and alleys back to the town square, and he clutched the side of a brick building in an effort to avoid being exposed. The tension was greater, the tug that much stronger, and beads of sweat collected behind the mask.
When: Day 31
Where: Town Square
Erik did not appreciate being pulled from his room. It was not comfortable. He had not eaten and had slept only by accident. But after the incident with the rude young man, Erik had been loathe to leave his room, even to seek other lodgings. Perhaps that night...
He had fallen asleep again.
Thus far, Purgatory was turning out to be a disappointment. He had not expected to be entertained. (He had, in fact, expected to die and thereby enter a blessed Nothingness, confirming his vision of the world as a place where life meant nothing at all. Instead, he was a town that looked American, which only confirmed his vision of the U.S. as a cultural wasteland. For all he knew, this was really what it was like. But what was the point of it all?
It became no clearer when the urge came, like nothing he'd ever felt before. Erik, in later years, only ever left his lair for very good reasons, compelling all on their own. He was not given to the urge to wander. And yet, now, it began to hurt, the longer he remained seated on his bed.
He wondered if he were hungry. He could not remember eating last, but he seldom ate much anyway and often went for long periods of time without eating or noticing whether he had. He tried to remember--did hunger feel like this?
But when he rose, cloak still swirling around him, to see if there was food to steal, the urge seemed to tug at him to leave the building. He resisted, brow furrowing in concentration, but eventually gave in and followed it. Curiosity, he told himself. Not the urge itself. He would be prepared for anything, even Rose Tyler.
Erik's feet led him along shadows and alleys back to the town square, and he clutched the side of a brick building in an effort to avoid being exposed. The tension was greater, the tug that much stronger, and beads of sweat collected behind the mask.