|
Post by NIKOLA TESLA on Oct 14, 2012 14:44:46 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true] | [atrb=background,http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z431/poshiloh/Remember%20the%20Name/middle.png]
speech - thoughts - narrative
He hesitated before accepting the nubbin back, mostly because it meant that she was leaving. He did, though, moving to put little Pipsqueak back after slipping him a small snack for behaving so well. He had half expected her to be off trying to find her own way back out by the time he turned back around, but no - she was still there, and hesitating. Her next words kept that faint hope alive, and he nodded, perhaps a little more eagerly than he should have.
Yeah - of course.
He replied quickly - hoping that she wasn't just saying that to not hurt his feelings - though he held up a finger for her to wait a second. He wasn't sure if she would or not, but he ducked off down the hall, then twisted down a side passage and down a half-flight of stairs into the wine cellar. He didn't typically share - but he had caused her quite a bit of grief, and she could probably use a drink or two. He refrained from taking anything too expensive, of course - though he did take two bottles, one for himself and one for her. He headed back towards her then, steps as quick as before, and he held the cheaper - though still far from cheap - bottle out with a small half-smile, half-grimace.
...I'd say doctor's orders, given your night, but... I'm not actually a doctor. Now, let's get you to the main doors, hm?
He motioned for her to follow, though he remembered how she'd tensed last time he'd touched her elbow lightly to indicate the same - and as such, he avoided doing so again. Instead, he just started moving off with a tip of his head, anticipating she'd follow, as he headed back the way they'd come. She'd have to grab her things still, so he got them back up to his room first, managing to flag Declan down to give her a ride back to her car at the crime scene while they passed the library. He did pause, though, leaning against the door frame of his room, before Declan joined them and while she gathered her things, an offer slipping out - only partially planned, really, but still.
You know- you could always come sometime over the next few days. I could gather up all the reports and files on Jack. Perhaps you'll see something we've missed. If you're interested. It's a lot of stuff to go through, so it'll take a while, but... It might be worth it.
emily prentiss ...tagged 423 ...words --- ...playlist --- ...notes
| |
|
|
|
Post by EMILY PRENTISS on Oct 14, 2012 16:55:30 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true] | [atrb=background,http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z431/poshiloh/Remember%20the%20Name/middle-20.png]
speech - thoughts - narrative
She noticed just how eager he seemed at her words, though what exactly was putting him in such a good mood, she wasn't sure. She did, however, weight for him as he headed off down the hall and out of sight, instead turning her focus back to the container holding the nubbins and allowing herself a small smile. They were cute, she wouldn't deny that, even if they were definitely a bit strange for her liking. She could definitely get used to them if given the chance, though, which was a bit of a shame seeing as she wouldn't exactly have that chance, at least not anytime soon. She wasn't exactly going to come back here, after all, or at least not without good reason, and visiting the nubbins unfortunately didn't count.
In a matter of minutes, she heard footsteps and he appeared from around a corner, heading back towards her. She noticed the bottles of wine he had with him almost immediately, and even at this distance neither of them looked like particularly cheap bottles either, though she had to wait until he'd actually approached and handed her one before she could actually be sure. She had been right, though, and she raised an eyebrow at the bottle before glancing back up to him, though he spoke before she could interrupt with a comment of her own. He was right, she knew- a drink or two was exactly what she needed after the events of that night.
Thanks. I- I appreciate it.
She murmured, though she didn't say anything else, instead simply following him back along in the direction they'd come, back towards his bedroom so she could gather her things. She began to do just that, starting with her gun and ending with the pile of wet clothing, though she did glance back towards him briefly in between as he posed his offer. Part of her wanted to say no- that this would be a bad idea, or at least that they should try to keep things strictly objective between them. However, it wasn't like he was asking her out on a date- it was just business, and she had no good excuse to turn that down. If it would help them catch Jack- the creature she could only assume was the killer- then she'd do it.
...yeah. Sure- just- just call, if you're ever free.
Her contact information wasn't all that difficult to get a hold of, after all, not when she was so high up in the London Interpol office. He'd managed to find her email- her phone number shouldn't be any problem. She balled her clothes up and put them under her arm to carry them out of the room and snatched up the bottle of wine he'd given her as she slipped back into the hallway, having attached her gun and its holster to her hip beforehand. She was free to head back to her apartment now, and that was a much more appealing thought than any right now. She couldn't resist asking him one more question, though, and before she could stop them the words left her lips unbidden.
What is Jack, anyways?
524 words for nikola tesla
written while listening to nothing
"No particular notes for this post."
| |
|
|
|
Post by NIKOLA TESLA on Oct 14, 2012 17:58:35 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true] | [atrb=background,http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z431/poshiloh/Remember%20the%20Name/middle.png]
speech - thoughts - narrative
He'd nodded, moving aside to let her past as she went to leave the room, though he didn't go to follow her. He'd call - he was always free, and he'd already found her number. He'd let her sleep though - leave calling until about noon, so that she'd be as rested as she could get, if she let herself. He was doubtful she would, but he'd give her the chance. He heard the soft, echoing steps of Declan leaving the library shortly before he saw the man, and he turned a small smile in her direction.
Go home, get some rest - we'll talk tomorrow. And here comes your ride. Completely human. Promise.
With that, he slipped off down the hall and ducked away into a room, closing the door behind him and setting to work organizing files and finding stories in his office, door locked so no one could bother him. He didn't even finish his bottle of wine - something anyone here would deem a miracle at this point.
When he glanced up at the clock, finished, it was past when he'd decided he'd call - instead, it was nearing three in the afternoon. He stared for a moment with a startled blink, not having been expecting that. He finished the bottle of wine with a swig, tossing it aside in the pile of empty bottles that had accumulated through the past few days. He found his phone, remembering her number and dialing it quickly, waiting after it stopped ringing for her to say hello.
Emily - it's me. I've, uh- got those files ready. Feel free to stop by if you get a moment, I'll let you through the gate... How's the hangover, by the way?
He didn't really give her a chance to speak before the end, though he was already moving to get out of his chair, and heading towards his room. He tended to smell like alcohol after that much time in his office - due to the overwhelming smell of it in there right now, despite the air freshener that Declan had insisted upon when he realized just how bad it was getting. As such, he figured she would probably appreciate if he showered - and he'd get them working in the library instead of his office, if only to avoid her seeing the pile of empty bottles and asking.
emily prentiss ...tagged 393 ...words --- ...playlist --- ...notes
| |
|
|
|
Post by EMILY PRENTISS on Oct 14, 2012 18:26:28 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true] | [atrb=background,http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z431/poshiloh/Remember%20the%20Name/middle-20.png]
speech - thoughts - narrative
She'd gone home without a problem, having found Declan far easier to trust than Nikola especially seeing as she had her gun with her now- not to mention, she was fully confident it would work should she find any reason to shoot the unfamiliar man, whereas she didn't think a bullet would do much to slow a vampire down. The moment she got to her apartment, she was opening the bottle of wine and sipping at it, not even bothering with a glass- she wasn't exactly expecting company, after all. She had only intended to take a few sips, but by the time she realized just how much she'd drank the bottle was empty, and she couldn't exactly cut herself off now. As such, she simply left the bottle on the counter to take care of in the morning and went off to bed, only barely managing to partially undress herself before just dropping onto it and pulling the blankets over her. In a matter of minutes, she was asleep.
Everything that had happened with Nikola combined with her late-night drinking led to her having gotten only six or seven hours of sleep by the time her alarm went off, and it didn't take long for her to realize she had the hangover from hell- she could hardly open her eyes without the pain threatening to split her skull. Somehow, she managed to drag herself out of bed long enough to shower, eat, and even pop a couple of tylenol before heading off to work. She ended up locking herself in her office for the majority of the day with the blinds drawn and the door shut, and strict instructions to leave her alone unless it was an absolute emergency. She knew it looked bad for someone of her rank to come in to work completely hungover, but right now, she couldn't care less- she'd needed the drink last night, and now she was paying the price, simple as that.
She'd found that a well-placed file folder did a good job to muffle the noise of her desk phone, too, though that didn't help her when it was her personal phone that rang instead at around three in the afternoon. She immediately assumed it was Clyde- he was the only person she could think of that would use her personal number- but then she checked the caller ID and paused, confused, before actually answering it, though she immediately winced as he began to speak louder than expected. She didn't have the chance to interject right away so she waited until he was finished speaking to reply, ignoring his question entirely.
I'm not busy- I'll be there in ten minutes.
She hung up after that and left her office, wincing at the increased light but braving it in favor of getting to the elevator and, eventually, her car. This was another thing she liked about being boss- she had no one to answer to except, should she do something completely out of line, Clyde, and he was typically the one to do things out of line with her, so she hardly had to worry about getting into trouble for leaving the office this suddenly. She'd have to call the man later, she decided, but right now she was focused on getting to the Sanctuary and seeing these files Nikola had mentioned to her.
As promised, he let her car through the gate and she took a moment to park it in the Sanctuary's extended driveway before hopping out and heading for the front doors. She had, admittedly, brought her gun with her again, this time holstered to her hip, though that was more as a precaution than anything- she still didn't trust Nikola entirely. Didn't know if she should, no matter how charming he may think himself. She made it to the front doors and slipped in without a word, confident someone would be waiting there to meet her- today was just as rainy as the night before, and she didn't want to have to wait in the wet weather for someone to let her in.
She'd been right- Declan met her there, and directed her towards Nikola's office. It didn't take her long to get there and she doubted her arrival would go unannounced, either, with the clicks of her heeled boots against the floor. The door was closed when she reached it and she gave a tentative knock, wincing at the sound and momentarily thankful at just how dimly lit the Sanctuary was- but like hell she was letting Nikola know just how hungover she was after all. No, she simply waited for him to answer the door, arms crossing in front of her in the process.
782 words for nikola tesla
written while listening to the a-team -- ed sheeran
"No particular notes for this post."
| |
|
|
|
Post by NIKOLA TESLA on Oct 14, 2012 19:35:07 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true] | [atrb=background,http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z431/poshiloh/Remember%20the%20Name/middle.png]
speech - thoughts - narrative
He had showered, changed, even combed his hair for once - and then after that, he'd gone down to grab another bottle of wine, almost entirely out of habit than anything at this point, and had returned to his office for a few last minute touches to place the files on the jump drive and grab his laptop. He had been just about to leave and go wait by the front door when he heard the knock and he froze a moment before cursing Declan softly.
He shoved his laptop into a messenger bag in a flash, dropping the jump drive in and slinging the strap over his shoulder. He dashed to the door, paused, turned back to grab the forgotten bottle of wine, taking a quick sip before cracking the door open and peering through with a faint smile. He knew he had to open the door more, though, if he was to leave, and he went to do just that - he opened it, likely enough she could see the pile of bottles, though he ignored that fact, and slipped out the door, closed it behind him.
I, uh, figured we could work in the library...
He murmured quietly, not even realizing how the bottle of wine in his hand probably defeated the purpose of avoiding his office altogether - particularly given how last night's had been a white, and this was a red. He didn't bother waiting for a response, assuming she'd follow on basic principle. He wasn't exactly shy about sipping away at the bottle as he walked either, though he paused a few moments later, looking back at her.
It's, uh, this way. There'll be some books in there that should help anyway... And it'll be darker and quieter, so...
Well, quieter was a lie - it was just as quiet in his office. But it was one more reason for them to leave his office behind right now, and that was all he really needed.
emily prentiss ...tagged 326 ...words --- ...playlist --- ...notes
| |
|
|
|
Post by EMILY PRENTISS on Oct 14, 2012 19:58:23 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true] | [atrb=background,http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z431/poshiloh/Remember%20the%20Name/middle-20.png]
speech - thoughts - narrative
He was right- she noticed the pile of empty wine bottles behind him almost immediately, as well as the smell, not to mention he had another bottle with him as well. Her hangover was momentarily forgotten as her eyes drifted from one part of the office to the next- or at least, everything that she could see with him in the way, though he quickly slipped past her and shut the door behind him, cutting off her view entirely. She'd seen enough, though, and it was times like this her profiling skills came in handy, though she did at least turn to glance at him as he started off in another direction.
She didn't move away from his office door just yet, though, still curious and not quite sure what to make of the situation. She did eventually take a few steps after him and went to catch up, figuring she could work this out for herself while they walked, though she for the most part ignored his words, paying attention to him in general instead- body language and the like. Of course, he was sipping straight out of the bottle, and wasn't so much as offering her any of it- not that she cared about that particular aspect, though it did show her something else. He was drinking for a reason- at least, a reason beyond alcoholism.
...who'd you lose?
She came to a stop then, figuring that this wasn't some topic she should just brush off. All the signs pointed to it, after all- he'd lost someone he was close to, or someone that meant a lot to him, and drowned his sorrows in alcohol to try to forget about it. It probably wasn't a woman- at least, not a wife, seeing as he wasn't wearing a ring. It could very easily be a fiancee, girlfriend, or even just a friend, male or female, though she was hoping he'd answer that for her, if only because she hadn't seen enough of his office to tell. Hell, it might even be family- she didn't know. Regardless, she didn't leave it there, figuring he'd want some kind of explanation- they always did.
...you're drinking a lot, but you're not an alcoholic. No wedding band, no pictures around your office, so it's not a wife or kids- so who is it?
386 words for nikola tesla
written while listening to the a-team -- ed sheeran
"No particular notes for this post."
| |
|
|
|
Post by NIKOLA TESLA on Oct 15, 2012 5:40:21 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true] | [atrb=background,http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z431/poshiloh/Remember%20the%20Name/middle.png]
speech - thoughts - narrative
He had turned back to keep walking as she caught up and continued beside him - but the second those three words were out of her mouth, he froze on the spot. Not only had she seen, but she'd sorted it all out. Lovely. He had opened his mouth, ready to brush it off as just a love of alcohol and an inability to get drunk, when she went through the motions of explaining it and he realized that it wasn't a lucky guess at all - and you couldn't explain away a logical, educated guess with just a flippant phrase.
He didn't say anything immediately, though, wary eyes landing on her, watching for any sign she was just pulling this out of thin air to try and get him to say something and just getting extremely lucky with what she picked on. There was none though. He should have done his research on her; right now, she was staring him down like any seasoned profiler. Well, that was rather unfortunate. He fell from wary to purely guarded, letting next to nothing through - though that in itself would likely tell just as much.
...A close friend. The last of four. It was always coming, but, fool that I am, I held on to the hope that by some miracle I wouldn't be the last one left, despite what I am.
He returned to walking then, pace quicker than before, eager to just get to work and stop talking about it. She'd brought it up, though - and without even thinking about it, the action long since automatic by now, he merely took another swig from the wine bottle, moody glare at the floor tinged with hurt at Helen's sheer selfishness. He knew she could have exploded it from outside.
But they're gone, I'm alone, and fate has finally run its course after holding out for a hundred and twenty seven years. Suppose it was a good run, technically speaking.
emily prentiss ...tagged 326 ...words --- ...playlist had to rush a little at the end >.< ...notes
| |
|
|
|
Post by EMILY PRENTISS on Oct 15, 2012 7:20:16 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true] | [atrb=background,http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z431/poshiloh/Remember%20the%20Name/middle-20.png]
speech - thoughts - narrative
She knew she'd hit it dead-on when he came to a stop at her words, his eyes wary and distrusting as they landed on her. He did give her an answer eventually, though, and she immediately felt a pang of guilt for asking, knowing herself just what it was like to lose a close friend. Hell, she'd lost more than one, though she had a feeling now was not the time to bring that up. As he started walking again, she did too, though she didn't match his quick pace this time, simply returning to her leisurely pace from before and letting two heartfelt words slip out.
...I'm sorry.
She noticed him taking a swig from his current bottle, and she had a feeling that was as good a sign as any she should change the topic. She wasn't content to do that just yet, though- not when the pain was obviously so fresh in his mind that he was still drinking on a regular basis from it. That was no way to live, and she knew it, whether he actually could get drunk or not- she was beginning to have her doubts on that front- and she wanted to help, if she could. He may be an asshole, but no one deserved that kind of pain, not even him.
...if you want to talk about it, I'll listen. Drinking your sorrows away can't exactly help, and... well, talking about it might.
She didn't expect him to give in and talk about it without a fight, but that didn't mean she wouldn't try, not when he'd actually been half decent to her before. The least she could do was find some way to help, and she intended to do just that if he'd let her- was trying to do just that, though he'd have to cooperate in order for her to be able to help. She anticipated he wouldn't cave easily, though, and therefore murmured a few more words even as she sped up to catch up with him.
I know what it's like, I mean- to lose someone- and it's not something you can just drink away.
353 words for nikola tesla
written while listening to nothing
"Written on iPhone."
| |
|
|
|
Post by NIKOLA TESLA on Oct 15, 2012 13:40:42 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true] | [atrb=background,http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z431/poshiloh/Remember%20the%20Name/middle.png]
speech - thoughts - narrative
There's nothing to talk about. Nigel, James, John and Helen are dead, and I'm left alone for however many centuries I've got left. It's what always happens Everyone leaves.
He muttered bitterly in response, though he wasn't angry at her. He was hurt and alone and fragile, yes - but he wasn't angry, and the way he glowered at the floor in misery made that pretty obvious. He kept walking, however, until he reached the library, walking in through the open doors in the expansive room, the ceiling arching high with plenty of windows and natural light, though he flicked a switch to draw the blinds down, turning the lights on just bright enough to read and no brighter. He closed the door behind them, stopping while still facing it with a soft sigh.
I can't drink it away, I know that. But there's nothing else I can do either, and it's not like it does anything to me, so why not?
He murmured before turning back towards her and heading further in to one of the tables and setting the bag down, pulling his laptop out and setting it up before pulling a second chair over. He didn't settle in the seat immediately, though, instead heading down the bookshelves - all organized, thanks to Declan. He scanned past the rows before ducking down one and pausing at one spot, pulling out a few books - books that mentioned Jack - and then headed back out and set them down before settling in the chair.
Regardless, you came here to work, so perhaps we should just- do that.
It wasn't that it was a particularly touchy subject - not at all, in fact. He simply didn't like to share - at least, not in the way she was looking for. He had no problems blurting out little bits here and there, but never anything of real use. He was the sort to talk a lot and say nothing, after all. So, instead of expanding on anything he'd said, he took another gulp out of the bottle and flipped to the story of Jack in the first book in the pile, sliding it out to rest closer to the other chair so that if she came to join, she'd be able to see it clearly.
That's him - Spring Heeled Jack. London's most notorious horror story, used primarily to scare young children into behaving, though there are various sightings throughout the years, seeing as he is real. Anything between 1899 and a few months back is bogus - he was here, never left the premise. But before that, and the recent ones - chances are they were real. It's always best to start with the stories - they're essentially eye witness accounts.
emily prentiss ...tagged 455 ...words --- ...playlist classic avoidance xD ...notes
| |
|
|
|
Post by EMILY PRENTISS on Oct 15, 2012 17:14:47 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true] | [atrb=background,http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z431/poshiloh/Remember%20the%20Name/middle-20.png]
speech - thoughts - narrative
She didn't say anything more, though she did wince a bit as they entered the library and the bright light brought her hangover to the forefront of her mind once again. She was thankful when he drew the blinds and dimmed the lights in general, but that didn't change the fact that the headache was back and she took a minute to pause by the door way and recover. In that time he spoke again, and she let her eyes fall shut for a moment before opening again and landing on him, gaze sympathetic but firm.
That's just it- because it doesn't do anything. You could drink all the wine in the world, and it still wouldn't change things. And do you think this is how your friends wanted you to end up- alone, and drinking whatever you can get your hands on?
She may not be one to typically nose into people's lives without good reason, but as far as she was concerned, this was a good reason. He'd shown her a side of him that was nothing but empathetic- might even be considered human, even if his sarcastic remark about the cargo pants hadn't completely erased itself from her memory. She may not care all that much for him, but she definitely didn't want to see him suffer, and that's what he was doing right now- suffering over something he had no control over, and if there was anything she could do to put a stop to it, she would.
Nevertheless, he was right- they did have work to do, and holding onto the topic of his late friends would do nothing but antagonize him, something she just couldn't afford to do right now. She moved over to the table to join him, sliding into the other chair and taking a look at the book he'd slid towards her, noticing the picture and immediately sending him a skeptical look. She'd heard the name mentioned a couple of times before- Spring-heeled Jack. It was all just a bunch of folklore though- at least, that's what she'd thought, though Nikola seemed to think otherwise. Then again, just the day before, she'd thought vampires were a myth, and she'd been proven wrong on that front. She'd give him the benefit of the doubt- if only to avoid argument.
How do we know we can trust these accounts? People exaggerate things. For all we know, half of what we read will be made up.
Despite her skepticism she began scrolling over the text with her eyes, only half paying attention to anything Nikola might have to say on the matter. She could only hope that most of what she read was true- it would be helpful in putting together a profile of some sort. They'd be able to make predictions- guess where he would next strike, that sort of thing. That was really all they could do in the meantime, too- that, and try to track him down before he killed anyone else, if that was even possible.
501 words for nikola tesla
written while listening to nothing
"No particular notes for this post."
| |
|
|
|
Post by NIKOLA TESLA on Oct 15, 2012 18:23:32 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true] | [atrb=background,http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z431/poshiloh/Remember%20the%20Name/middle.png]
speech - thoughts - narrative
Nigel would have understood. John would have loved it - bit of an exaggeration to call him a friend, I suppose. And regardless, as of last night I've managed to pull out of the bottle-an-hour habit. Just had nothing else to do on top of it, and paperwork is really rather dull all on its own.
He'd replied a little snappily towards the beginning, mostly because he didn't like her assuming she knew his friends at all. They'd all been a little different - a little harder to predict, just like him. It had come with living as long as they had, or, in Nigel's case, being invisible. The worst part was, she was right - Nigel would have understood, yes, but he would have hated it. He would have hated it with a passion, as he had when Nikola had fallen into this after seeing one of John's murders in progress and then later heard John twisting facts to point fingers at him in the minds of James and Helen. Helen and James would have been right alongside Nigel, trying to drag him out of it - and even John, the sneaky bastard, would have been watching with vague concern on the sidelines.
All the more reason to change the topic.
He was glad when she let him do just that, noting the skeptical look but ignoring it as he turned to the other books and found the right sections for her, then turned his attention to his laptop, flipping the screen open and plugging the jump drive in. He scrolled through to the files, opening them all up and selecting one of the earlier ones - written by James and Helen in conjunction, eyes saddening for a moment before it was gone.
That would be why we have actual Sanctuary reports to corroborate. There's none to match anything earlier than the late 1800's, but still. And anyway, most of them are fairly accurate - Jack was here as a voluntary resident. He wasn't locked up. As such, he was really quite cooperative when asked questions.
He turned his attention to his computer screen once more, skimming through the files to bring up the intake report - the one with a picture to document, as well as all known details on Jack at the time, along with edits when new things were discovered. He pulled the picture up full screen and tapped it before tapping a picture in the book she had in front of her.
I'd say they're pretty good, though, based on this similarity at least. Especially taking into regard the artist's creative integrity versus the objectivity of a photograph. Opinions?
emily prentiss ...tagged 438 ...words --- ...playlist --- ...notes
| |
|
|
|
Post by EMILY PRENTISS on Oct 15, 2012 20:00:34 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true] | [atrb=background,http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z431/poshiloh/Remember%20the%20Name/middle-20.png]
speech - thoughts - narrative
She noticed the sad look cross his face for a moment, though she didn't say anything, deciding that any discussion regarding those friends of his could wait until later- when they weren't trying to catch a killer, and hopefully had more time and a better environment to actually open up to each other in the process. His next words did prove to be of some use, though, and she glanced over at the computer screen to get a look at what he was doing just in time to see the picture, one that the image in the book appeared almost identical to.
Okay, so maybe we have a few accurate accounts of him after all. But if we want to catch him, we'll need the most recent accounts you can find- a lot can change in a few centuries. Or however long ago it was when you first brought him in.
She shifted closer to him, reaching over to exit the picture and view the details of Jack himself. They were pretty mundane facts at that- measurements, habits, diet, that sort of thing. It was those details that would help them the most in the end, though- they would be able to pinpoint Jack all the easier, not to mention know how to hold onto him once they'd found him. The Sanctuary would probably be able to do that itself, sure, but they'd need to bring him there before the place would be of any use, and part of her doubted he'd go willingly.
She went to work looking through the books he'd pulled out then, finding the ones with the accounts that seemed the most accurate and gleaning what information from them she could. She wasn't a note-taker- never had been, really, even if her mind was far from perfect- and simply tried to make mental notes of the facts that really jumped out at her as things that could be of use, leaving Nikola to look over the Sanctuary records on his laptop by himself and simply recite anything that may be of use to her. They'd been at it for at least an hour, with her only glancing up at him on occasion, when she saw the shift in his eyes- that same sad look that had come over him just moments before, except this time it didn't leave right away. She paused for a moment, resting the book she'd been looking through on the table and finally risking a few words.
...is everything alright?
414 words for nikola tesla
written while listening to nothing
"No particular notes for this post."
| |
|
|
|
Post by NIKOLA TESLA on Oct 16, 2012 5:41:44 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true] | [atrb=background,http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z431/poshiloh/Remember%20the%20Name/middle.png]
speech - thoughts - narrative
He'd been avoiding the sad look with each report - they were all by James or Helen, save the recent ones by Declan, Henry and Kate. He just didn't look at the signature at the bottom of the old scanned in pages. It had been going well, he figured - or, at least, she was learning about Jack well enough. Whether it was helping her or not, he wasn't sure. If it didn't, he supposed he'd just have to wander landing looking for a whiff of the abnormal, hunt him down that way now that it wasn't raining - however long that lasted.
Then, of course, he'd come across this report - the one he'd merely been staring at. It looked like James's handwriting, which made sense given the topic - Helen had been trying to sort out what was wrong, while John and Nigel had been trying to pin him to no avail. He didn't actually check the signature, though. He didn't care to. It wasn't a Jack report - clearly he did occasionally need a little rest after all, given he'd ended up grabbing this one alongside them by accident.
He jumped a bit when he heard her - even if it was just barely, with his eyes skimming the words over and over. Turning to glance over at her, he slid on a faint fake smile and nodded, though his eyes trailed back to the scanned in written words, the background paper a faint cream with a bit of yellowing at the edges - They hadn't wanted to scan this one in, but for fear of losing it entirely they had, he supposed. He read that first phrase one last time, fake smile falling away in an instant as he did. 'Today, we injected the last of us, Nikola, with the serum.' He quickly closed it before he got caught up again.
Fine- Just- grabbed an extra by mistake. One I was involved in. Just... a lot of memories.
He finally replied a moment later, though he hadn't moved on to a new Jack report, instead still staring at the screen, all the words that had been on it burned into his perfect memory, still repeating over and over. Details on what had happened first, what he'd done - he hadn't been aware of any of it, save tossing Nigel, John and James off him at one point, likely before James had begun writing this. He'd mostly been aware only of the searing pain in his whole body. That was the day everything changed - that was the day he'd set on this lonely path with no idea what he was getting himself into. It had led to all of this - just like the day he'd met Helen had. He merely downed a good quarter of the bottle more without another word.
emily prentiss ...tagged 472 ...words --- ...playlist --- ...notes
| |
|
|
|
Post by EMILY PRENTISS on Oct 16, 2012 6:53:44 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true] | [atrb=background,http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z431/poshiloh/Remember%20the%20Name/middle-20.png]
speech - thoughts - narrative
She'd suspected as much- that he'd come across something that brought back painful memories, or at least memories he didn't want to relive, not now. The look on his face was the same one from the hallway, when he'd mentioned his friends, though- she could only assume the memories involved them in some way. She'd suspected they all had ties to the Sanctuary in some way, and now it was all beginning to piece itself together, though she was more concerned about Nikola himself at the moment. Whether he believed it or not, she cared- she didn't know why, but she did, and there was no backing out now.
You know, talking about it normally helps.
She may not have stated anything outright, but the implications were clear enough, and that was what mattered. She reached over to push the laptop back and away from him a little bit though leaving the wine bottle where it was for the time being, if only because she had a feeling snatching it away wouldn't go over well at all. Not that she thought he would take anything she was saying particularly well, though she'd take what she could get- and right now, so long as she had his attention, that was enough.
You're no use to anyone sulking like that, Tesla. Talk to me- just- try to get some things off your chest. It'll help, believe it or not. And unlike some people, I'll actually listen. So just- just talk to me, okay?
248 words for nikola tesla
written while listening to nothing
"meh. not entirely happy with this post >.< Written on iPhone."
| |
|
|
|
Post by NIKOLA TESLA on Oct 16, 2012 7:26:38 GMT -5
[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true] | [atrb=background,http://i1189.photobucket.com/albums/z431/poshiloh/Remember%20the%20Name/middle.png]
speech - thoughts - narrative
He shot her a faint glare as she moved the laptop away, though it was halfhearted at best. He couldn't get mad at her for trying to help, not really. He may not appreciate the help - as far as he was concerned, only time would help, if anything, after all, and therefore she was wasting her time - but he couldn't be angry because she cared enough to try. He sighed softly, having a distinct feeling he wasn't getting out of it this time, and reclined in his chair a moment.
I do talk, Emily Perhaps not to people, but I do and I have and it hasn't helped. Nor will it. What would help is getting out of this godforsaken place and finding a distraction - but I can't do that. Helen spent most of her life building and running these Sanctuaries - I can't just let them crumble. And so, I stay. It's simple as that. It may not be good for me, and I may be miserable, but at least hundreds of abnormals will still have somewhere safe to go.
It sounded clinical, for the most part - but it definitely didn't sound practiced. There was a faint thread of pain underlying it, just enough to make it personal, even though he hadn't intended for it to be there at all. In fact, he'd rather tried to avoid it. She wanted to know more - wanted to help, primarily, but the fact she wanted him to talk to her instead of trying to convince him to talk to someone made it clear enough. She did, on some level - perhaps even subconscious - want to know what happened. He wouldn't tell her, though - not unless she actually asked. He wouldn't react to implications unless they were considerably more obvious.
He sighed softly, getting to his feet to slowly, but restlessly, pace a bit, as was typical. He should expand, he knew - at least tell her why it was so very bad, on some vague level. It had more to do with it than just location - the hurt of losing them, of watching Helen and James both die while not having heard of Nigel's own death until years too late. Nigel's was the worst - he'd just given up. He'd always talked of trying to live forever when they were alone together - but supposedly he had turned the option down to die alone in solitude. To say Nikola blamed himself for not informing the invisible man of his death being fake and not real was an understatement - perhaps the largest one ever made.
True, I may have to move headquarters. London may be pushing it. Sitting at James's desk, running Helen's network, in the city where the five of us spent so much of our youth together. But that decision isn't going to be made any time soon. For now, London's home, just like it used to be.
He returned to the desk then, grabbing the bottle to down a little more before settling it down and leaning on the back of the chair he'd been sitting in moments before, eyes landing on her and likely telling all, what with the sheer lonely pain settled there. He just watched her a moment, merely because he could - could look at her and see how he used to be, back when he'd been hurt but young enough to take it all in stride. He met her eyes with his next words, trying to make sure she understood that there was little that could be done for him now.
Live long enough and have the few good things you've ever known stripped away from you, Emily, and you'll understand. Eventually, you just end up broken and beaten, and there's very little that can be done to fix it, no matter how much you want to.
emily prentiss ...tagged 645 ...words --- ...playlist --- ...notes
| |
|
|