|Brian Jenkins | Dr. Jekyll (tooth_fairy) wrote in bellumlogs,|
@ 2010-06-23 22:45:00
|Entry tags:||dr. jekyll, mr. hyde, plot: tempus, plot: xi|
Who: Brian and the wonderful people inside his head
What: Operation Sunburn (i.e. why Brian could dominate fmylife.com)
Where: The Sahara Desert
When: Midday on July 17, 1789
Warnings: Whining and some mild language.
As he hit the ground, Brian realized two things. The first was that he was going to go to his computer the second he stood up and cancel his lease at Bellum Letale. The second was that his mouth was full of sand. Spitting it out, he stood, looking around with wide eyes. "Oh, no," he mumbled, reaching up to press both hands to the sides of his head. "No, no, no!" He stared at the hills of sand, already beginning to melt under the sun's harsh eye, and staggered to his feet as he adjusted his hat. "Oh, God," he whispered, covering his mouth. "I'm never getting back," he mumbled, taking a few numb steps forward. "I'm...I'm going to die here."
"Don't say that, Brian," Harry warned. "You survived France, which clearly lends credence to your ability to persevere," he said with a bit of superiority. "Just begin walking. You can't be the only one here. If the others were transported to Paris, they will surely be here as well."
For some reason, this was a comfort. Swallowing hard, Brian nodded. "Okay," he said out loud, not bothering to reply in his mind. "Okay, we'll see what lies ahead."
The sun was excruciating in its intensity, and Brian found himself trudging through the loose sand while simultaneously hoping that he would just collapse and die to save himself the agony. "Don't think that way," said Harry. "We'll get out of this."
"How are we getting out of this, Harry?" Brian demanded, pausing to glare and wave his arms about as if he were talking to the man face-to-face. "Because I would like to be privy to some of the confidential information you seem to have tucked away!" He stomped, sending small shockwaves of sand flying. "How can you be so fucking calm about this? I don't even know who you are! I don't know what I'm doing here, I don't know how I got here, I don't know..." He trailed off, voice dissolving into an angry growl as he kicked at the sand around him, sending little waves over the nearby dunes.
While Brian raged, Harry was quiet. "It will be okay."
"Oh yeah? Prove it!" he shouted, arms at his sides and waving. "I want some goddamn proof, Harry. And I want it now." Falling to a whimper, he dragged a hand over his face, falling to his knees. "I lose time. I can't remember what happened when I got to Paris, I didn't even remember those people's names. I-I move around at night, I wake up strange places." He sighed pathetically, burying his face in his hands. "I woke up looking like Rocky Balboa's punching bag. I hit my wife, and I can't even remember that." Feeling his insides clench, he bit the inside of his cheek. "I am a shitty human being," he concluded. "I'm a nutjob, and I'm going to die out here, and nobody will ever know."
"Pull yourself together, Brian," Harry said patiently. "I have been inside your mind for this past 24 hours, have I not?" Brian made a small sound of agreement. "And that gives me privy to a few of your memories. I assure you, you are not despicable." This was small comfort from a man who wouldn't reveal his last name. "You're simply tired." His voice became more caring, almost affectionate. "You need to relax." His tone became more and more calculating as he went, as if he were being more careful about his word choices. "Letting go can help that."
Dragging his palms over his hair, Brian sighed. "Letting go? What do you mean by that?"
Harry's voice was comforting, entreating. "Just lay down."
Brian paused, raising a brow. "Why?"
"I believe that I can take control," he said. "And you'll be able to rest. I will walk onward, trying to find another resident of your apartment building. Meanwhile, you won't be tasked with the discomfort of this journey."
He considered this. He wasn't sure how comfortable he was with the idea of somebody else taking over his body, but he was exhausted. And it would definitely be nice to not have to witness this madness. After a few minutes of struggling with the thought, he resigned. "Okay. I'll do it." He sat down on a dune, carefully choosing one that was casting a bit of a shadow. Removing his hat, he placed it beside himself as he laid down, closing his eyes. "Okay. Now what?"
"Just relax," Harry said. "Let your consciousness drift away." The sand began to feel less scratchy, less bumpy beneath him. Even the hot air began to fade, turning into a scrambled landscape of colors and sounds that echoed softly in his head. After a few minutes, Harry's voice was gone, replaced by a blanket quiet that secluded him from any kind of pain. And then there was nothing at all.