Duo Maxwell (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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sirenspull_logs2012-03-20 06:23 am
duomaxwell) wrote in sirenspull_logs2012-03-20 06:23 am
Entry tags:
Oh stay, I need you here for a new day to break
Who: Duo and Claire (Maybe other HoA people later?)
When: Frontdate - March 22nd, early morning after sirens
Where: HoA
Summary: Duo is back, but he is most definitely not okay
Warnings: All the feels, guys. All the feels
He was shaking. He couldn't stop shaking. Every movement was heavy, slow, every breath strained in sore, aching lungs, every turn every twitch enough to make him want to cry out in pain all over again. He wasn't bleeding, but there was still blood. He wasn't injured, but there was still pain. He wanted to scream, but he wasn't sure if he even had a voice anymore after what happened.
It had been days - nearly a week, according to a newspaper stand he'd passed - but the memory was still fresh in his mind. Sylar's face, a street he didn't know, blood, and so, so much pain. His braid was no longer there, thick brown hair that was once over half his height was just... gone. Cut, taken, disposed of God knows where. Now his hair hung loose, a short, shaggy, razor-cut mess hidden under the hoodie he'd had on when he had died. His skin was pale. He looked positively sickly, and as he skirted along the early morning Siren's Port streets the few that were awake at that early hour passed him worried, concerned glances.
More worried for themselves, probably. He likely looked like a mad man, or at the very least closer to a zombie the way he was moving along, hunched and huddled, blue eyes darting around frantic and wide. Was he there waiting, ready to pounce and kill him again just for the fun of hearing him scream again? Or had Sylar gotten to Claire in his absence? He had no idea what to expect. All he knew was that he just wanted to cling to something until he could stop trembling like a frightened child.
Claire had told him where she was living now less than a week before, when they had shared a dinner at his house the very day they began dating officially. For as vivid as the memories of his murder were, that wonderful warm night seemed so distant and hazy now. Would they ever get that feeling back now, after all this? Or would it all be pretend, another mask to add to the one he already wore?
He didn't know. His mind was a muddled, jumbled, racing mess. Not so much that he couldn't navigate to her place, but enough that he stumbled and had to backtrack more than once.
His trembling hadn't stopped even by the time he reached her place, and he didn't so much knock on the door as he slumped against it, forehead to the cold material of it while his fist just banged weakly.
"Come on... answer... please, please answer..." he pleaded, voice cracking and fist knocking louder. "Claire! Answer the door!"
When: Frontdate - March 22nd, early morning after sirens
Where: HoA
Summary: Duo is back, but he is most definitely not okay
Warnings: All the feels, guys. All the feels
He was shaking. He couldn't stop shaking. Every movement was heavy, slow, every breath strained in sore, aching lungs, every turn every twitch enough to make him want to cry out in pain all over again. He wasn't bleeding, but there was still blood. He wasn't injured, but there was still pain. He wanted to scream, but he wasn't sure if he even had a voice anymore after what happened.
It had been days - nearly a week, according to a newspaper stand he'd passed - but the memory was still fresh in his mind. Sylar's face, a street he didn't know, blood, and so, so much pain. His braid was no longer there, thick brown hair that was once over half his height was just... gone. Cut, taken, disposed of God knows where. Now his hair hung loose, a short, shaggy, razor-cut mess hidden under the hoodie he'd had on when he had died. His skin was pale. He looked positively sickly, and as he skirted along the early morning Siren's Port streets the few that were awake at that early hour passed him worried, concerned glances.
More worried for themselves, probably. He likely looked like a mad man, or at the very least closer to a zombie the way he was moving along, hunched and huddled, blue eyes darting around frantic and wide. Was he there waiting, ready to pounce and kill him again just for the fun of hearing him scream again? Or had Sylar gotten to Claire in his absence? He had no idea what to expect. All he knew was that he just wanted to cling to something until he could stop trembling like a frightened child.
Claire had told him where she was living now less than a week before, when they had shared a dinner at his house the very day they began dating officially. For as vivid as the memories of his murder were, that wonderful warm night seemed so distant and hazy now. Would they ever get that feeling back now, after all this? Or would it all be pretend, another mask to add to the one he already wore?
He didn't know. His mind was a muddled, jumbled, racing mess. Not so much that he couldn't navigate to her place, but enough that he stumbled and had to backtrack more than once.
His trembling hadn't stopped even by the time he reached her place, and he didn't so much knock on the door as he slumped against it, forehead to the cold material of it while his fist just banged weakly.
"Come on... answer... please, please answer..." he pleaded, voice cracking and fist knocking louder. "Claire! Answer the door!"