Shawn Farrell (giveortake) wrote in taintedsprings_, @ 2008-01-13 00:48:00 |
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Entry tags: | complete |
WHO: Shawn Farrell, Tom Baldwin, and Unfortunate NPC #37
WHAT: Shawn's life sucks, and so does his ability
WHEN: We both reached for the gun! Recent evening
WHERE: Out on the town, then Tom's place
WARNINGS: Miko may like filling these out too much. Oh, and the thread is probably safe, come on. It's just Shawn freaking himself out to death. No biggie.
NOTES: This thread is backdated tooooo.
The city in this corner was bustling enough, with people quite aware of the coming holidays and all those things they entailed. It might not have been the most calming place to take a walk but Shawn hadn't really had a lot of choice. While driving past the strip of stores he had experienced another dizzy spell and had found the first vacated parking spot he could to allow himself to get out and breathe some fresh air. The instances of lightheadedness and disorientation had increased ever since Shawn had left Isaac's gallery those days ago. He'd always since felt a little wiped out, no matter how sleep he got or how much he tried to just sit around all day. It was like his body was faint with hunger but no amount of eating was going to satisfy it. Not that he'd been doing a whole giant amount of that, either, but Shawn could already tell that wasn't the source of the problem. It wasn't, again, like he'd never felt drained after a healing before. He just had never had it stick with him like this, he thought he'd be getting better, and he wasn't sure he liked any of the things that it might mean.
Unsettled, Shawn passed by the giggling girls with arms decorated with their bags like bracelets and the mothers hustling around with their children and shopping lists trailing behind them equally. He was usually cheered by the lights, the general good nature of the coming festivities but he felt distracted. When he once almost ran headlong into person, he finally stopped walking and stepped aside. A large display of fake flowers made for good cover as he leant against the related store and attempted to catch his breath. Just a few minutes, it would go away. His head would clear like every other time.
But the longer that Shawn stood there, his eyes half-closed, the more he realized that the pounding between his ears had not decreased at all. Maybe, he thought, it was the lights and the noise of the people. He pushed away from the wall, his legs shaking a little, and wandered a bit further away, eyeing each presented alcove for what looked like the quietest spot. Up ahead, there seemed to be a corner that no one else was turning but where a large sign about a performance space and pointing arrow appeared to be indicting that there was, indeed, something there to investigate.
He stumbled past the store fronts and into a walkway beyond, too wide and too clean to be an alleyway, and leading to a pleasant but unoccupied courtyard in the back. A couple of trees were kept fenced in and benches were around a make-shift stage but the area seemed untouched ever since the weather had turned cold. It was obviously meant for warmer occasions and had been left to gather trash and snow until those times were available again. The seclusion suited Shawn. He remained somehow convinced that he only needed a brief second to let this headache pass, right, to get over... whatever... but it was getting harder to concentrate. He couldn't will away the pain because it was more than him now. Blackness slowed his feet like tar while white blotted at the edges of his vision. He was losing--
He didn't know how long he'd been on the ground but the sound of footsteps startled even his muddled brain into some awareness, then there was the shadow of someone leaning over Shawn. A voice, "Hey, kid, are you okay? Hey, do you want me to call an ambulance?" Shawn attempted to shake his head and raised a hand of protest which the well-meaning man grasped onto to help Shawn up with.
The connection was like a jolt of lightning between them and the force of this power welded their hands together like magnets. Energy, red hot and fresh, poured into Shawn as his ability sucked greedily away at the unfortunate victim, its once helpful tone turned sour by need. His vision clearing and his senses returning, Shawn pushed to his knees as the other man crumpled to his own. He bent forward, having to bridge the distance between them as dictated by a grasp he was trying so desperately to pull away from. His hand, to the tips of his fingers, shook as he fought against his own enhanced sense of self-preservation. It wouldn't let him let go! He couldn't let go! He could hear the man moaning, see the way that his face was turning a ghastly white as each ounce as health was sucked out. Fear screamed a chill feeling up and down Shawn's spine and a line of sweat across his forehead. His arms were aching even as they were returning to full strength. And then, suddenly, the point of decision passed - Shawn's body became strong enough to respond to the dictations of his mind - and his choice had already been clear.
Flung away, Shawn hit the ground on his back and rolled onto his side momentarily to catch his breath. But soon enough he was up again, hurrying to the stranger's side and passing a hand over that pale forehead, that bloodless neck. Al-Alive - alive? Yes. Oh, yes. And breathing. Oh, thank God. Shawn collapsed into a seated position next to the stunned man, burying his face in his hands and laughing into them as a sheer release of adrenaline. He was amped up now with too much of it - life taken out of another person. The hands that he had against his face, they had done it, and guilt seeped out of them like poison. Shawn coughed. Then he pushed back onto his knees and then to his feet, knowing that he had to do something about this but not trusting his own body at the moment. Instead, he fished into his pocket, fumbling around for his phone with morbidly warm fingers. The number, at least, was easy enough.
"Nine, one, one- emergency response."
Shawn hesitated. He couldn't remember right away what he had come past to get here, where he was at all. "Hi, hey, uh, there's a guy here. I think he needs help. Behind the florist on 14th..."
"What is your state of your emergency?" The line droned.
"Just... just get here, okay?" He lowered the hand, snapping the phone shut in the same motion as pocketing it. He probably shouldn't stand here and hang around, no, he couldn't stay here. He couldn't have that man sit up, point to him, and say 'that's the guy who did this to me'. That wasn't the kind of weight that his shoulders could handle right then. It was irresponsible of him, but he needed to run because he was feeling more scared than he could remember in a long time, though the events with Devon flashed by in sickening reminder of another time he'd felt helpless, confused. Shawn's palm brushed briefly against his lower lip before the seemingly only option opened up in his mind. Anything he'd said, he was supposed to be there if Shawn needed anything.
Uncle Tom's cabin apartment was in Meadow Creek and not too far, a convenience considering that Shawn cut across the other side of the courtyard, leaving his car behind. He could walk fast, now, and read every street sign clearly with the life energy he'd stolen but he felt worse every time. His shoulders hunched and he tried to hide his eyes in his bangs; they'd grown out while he was in the coma and he still hadn't gotten around to taking care of them. As he walked he could almost hear what his other companions might have said about this. Kevin, he might've known what had gone wrong. Jordan, he probably would've zoned in on how Shawn had let himself go, but then turned right around and said how he was obviously overreacting. Was he? The Collier in his head said he was, that this was just one of those things that was going to happen if Shawn was going to figure out his full potential or some... crap. Who knew. If nothing else, Shawn just wanted a different voice.
Only when his shoes were pressing along the path up to the apartments did Shawn consider that he had no idea if his uncle was even home or not, but that hardly seemed to factor in by then. He still moved to the large double-doored entryway and fell against the strong exterior of the building. There was a box lined with numbers there and Shawn trailed his finger down the list till he spotted 4031 and then pressed the button next to it. The signal flew to its intended apartment and there was a crackle of noise from the intercom near the box, though no voice. It wasn't clear if the transmission started with the resident's permission or not so Shawn hesitantly pressed down the 'talk' button.
"Tom - Uncle Tommy? It's Shawn. If you're there... Buzz me in."