[ Déjà vu shouldn't be so easy to pull off without memories. But that's what it is, déjà vu from start to finish: waking up in a hospital, disoriented. Missing the how and the why or the where, exactly. The nurses in his personal space are familiar in a way that makes his hackles rise, and the part where he sits up and tries to fend them off in a way that's one part urgent, two parts polite (too polite to be effective) — that's familiar, too. ]
No— no, that isn't necessary, none of this is— I'm fine.
[ He has no idea what definition of "fine" he's working with. A very loose one, though; he knows that much. He feels a flash of guilt in response to the way the nurse is frowning at him, but that doesn't stop him from sliding off the bed and sidestepping past her on his way towards the door. ]
Sorry. Thank you, I mean it, I'm—
[ Not looking where he's going. David's got his eyes on the nurse as he apologizes and backpedals through the doorway, and he slams directly into whoever's unlucky enough to be walking by. ]
TWO | MAY FOURTH
[ The hospital's the worst part. The rest of it is fine. The rest of it is actually kind of nice, even if his memories of it are patchwork. David gets his clothes, finds a house (his house?), has a shower and feels fifty-percent less skeeved out. And he doesn't need memories to know that Main Street is sort of cute in that quaint Americana way, or to figure out that he likes exploring the woods — the completely legal and open to the public woods, specifically.
The woods are quiet. Or quieter, at least. The voices don't make it far past the edge of town. David knows what they are, and he knows what he is, vaguely. Knowing doesn't make the reality of it less annoying. The second he finds a way to turn down the volume on the white noise, he leans into it, hard.
In other words: he wanders into the woods on the evening of the 3rd, and he doesn't bother walking home when it gets dark. There's something extra appealing about falling asleep with a glimpse of stars above the looming trees, anyway. If anyone's out for a stroll on the 4th, they're liable to find him curled up at the base of a tree in a dead sleep. ]
( OOC: David's psychic, so hit up this permissions post if you tag in! )
david haller | may 3 (hospital) & 4 (woods) | open
[ Déjà vu shouldn't be so easy to pull off without memories. But that's what it is, déjà vu from start to finish: waking up in a hospital, disoriented. Missing the how and the why or the where, exactly. The nurses in his personal space are familiar in a way that makes his hackles rise, and the part where he sits up and tries to fend them off in a way that's one part urgent, two parts polite (too polite to be effective) — that's familiar, too. ]
No— no, that isn't necessary, none of this is— I'm fine.
[ He has no idea what definition of "fine" he's working with. A very loose one, though; he knows that much. He feels a flash of guilt in response to the way the nurse is frowning at him, but that doesn't stop him from sliding off the bed and sidestepping past her on his way towards the door. ]
Sorry. Thank you, I mean it, I'm—
[ Not looking where he's going. David's got his eyes on the nurse as he apologizes and backpedals through the doorway, and he slams directly into whoever's unlucky enough to be walking by. ]
TWO | MAY FOURTH
[ The hospital's the worst part. The rest of it is fine. The rest of it is actually kind of nice, even if his memories of it are patchwork. David gets his clothes, finds a house (his house?), has a shower and feels fifty-percent less skeeved out. And he doesn't need memories to know that Main Street is sort of cute in that quaint Americana way, or to figure out that he likes exploring the woods — the completely legal and open to the public woods, specifically.
The woods are quiet. Or quieter, at least. The voices don't make it far past the edge of town. David knows what they are, and he knows what he is, vaguely. Knowing doesn't make the reality of it less annoying. The second he finds a way to turn down the volume on the white noise, he leans into it, hard.
In other words: he wanders into the woods on the evening of the 3rd, and he doesn't bother walking home when it gets dark. There's something extra appealing about falling asleep with a glimpse of stars above the looming trees, anyway. If anyone's out for a stroll on the 4th, they're liable to find him curled up at the base of a tree in a dead sleep. ]
( OOC: David's psychic, so hit up this permissions post if you tag in! )