jackson (whittemore) wrote in badbloodrp, @ 2013-10-18 15:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | !arrival, charles gunn, jackson whittemore |
Characters: Jackson & OTA
Setting: Starts off in the basement of someone's home, and then out onto the street.
Summary: Jackson is pulled rather suddenly from London to a random stranger's basement. Confusion ensues. Note: Backdated to yesterday upon his arrival.
Rating: PGish
Warnings: Language likely
Jackson had been doing fine, settling into life in London and controlling the wolf within himself. So far, so good. He hadn't maimed anyone or anything so he was counting that as a damn win. The day had started out like any normal day, he'd gotten up, showered, grabbed food and he was about to head outside when his vision blurred. The scene changed suddenly. One moment he was in his dorm, then next he was standing in the middle of a bunch of cardboard boxes in a dank, dark basement that smelled moldy. His nose wrinkled as his stomach rolled from the scent, and he reached up with his hand to place his fingertips against his forehead. The dizziness he felt passed quickly enough, though the nausea wasn't letting up. Gritting his teeth, Jackson pushed some boxes out of his way, all the while trying not to panic. Panicking wasn't good. He could turn, he knew that much. Instead he focused on anything, everything else to keep himself focused. The stairs were a few steps away, and taking in a deep breath, Jackson made his way over to them. The wooden stairs creaked under his feet, and every few steps he would stop to listen, making sure that there were no footfalls above him. Finally he made it to the door, his stomach still turning, leaving him feeling slightly out of sorts. Swallowing back the bile that rose up into his throat, Jackson leaned forward, listening again and upon not hearing anything he pushed the door open. Jackson had no idea whose house this was, where he was for that matter, and so he made his way to the front door, stepping out onto their porch before making a beeline for the sidewalk. Bending over at the waist, Jackson took several deep gulps of fresh air, willing his stomach to settle. It was starting to work, his stomach settling a little though the feeling hadn't passed just yet. He slowed his breathing down, ignoring the smells of the world around him that assaulted his sensitive senses. "What the hell?" He muttered to himself, looking around the street, brows drawn low over his eyes as panic began to rise up in him again. His vision shifted which signaled that he was close to shifting, and he couldn't do that. Not here. Not out in the open. Jackson willed himself to focus, to resist the urge to shift. Balling his hands into fists, he dug his nails into his palms, the sharp sting of pain a welcome focusing point. |