quincy sparks ⚡️ [lincoln campbell] (carpentry) wrote in dunhavenic, @ 2018-03-27 15:53:00 |
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Entry tags: | !narrative, r * laura, r: quincy sparks |
WHO: Quincy Sparks
WHEN: 3/27, early morning
WHERE: His house!
SUMMARY: More memories, this time of almost burning down Afterlife.
WARNINGS: Naaah.
“Okay, Lincoln.” His body still felt like it was tingling everywhere. He thought that was something that would go away after the initial transition, like the left-over tingling was an effect of the terrigenesis that would fade as he got more comfortable in his new skin. There was an adjustment period, he reminded himself. Every Inhuman had go adjust to their new powers and the way it affected their bodies, and each time was different because no two Inumans were the same. The results were unpredictable; from what Lincoln had learned during his time there, terrigenesis would fill in gaps where there was an evolutionary need, something to create balance. He believed that. He had no reason to doubt that. So far, everything had happened exactly how they’d told him: the way they’d chosen the next candidates, what it had taken to prove himself, how he’d feel during terrigenesis. The only thing no one had been able to prepare him for was the aftermath, and that was only because no one knew what he’d turn out like in the end. Electricity crackled between his fingers. His hand shook and he tried to concentrate. He’d been on edge ever since he’d woken up, trying to rein in control of himself and of his powers. It was one thing to take control of his urges to drink, but to then add this on top of it? He was overwhelmed, to say the least. But someone, for the first time in a long time, believed in him. “I want you to focus on your hand and on what you feel, and I want you to try to pull all of that energy into a ball. Don’t do anything with it, just hold it there. Can you do that?” Lincoln closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deep and slow like he’d learned in meditation. “Okay,” he said quietly. He could do that. He could do anything now. He had a second chance at life, and he could make this one better -- “That’s it, Lincoln, you’re doing great.” Electricity sparked in his hand, the surge growing bigger and bigger. “Okay, that’s --” He opened his eyes, and the ball of electricity was bigger than his hand now, dancing with light. “That’s enough.” “I --” He squinted, trying to shut it off, but his internal struggle, his panic, only made the glowing light more unstable. “I can’t. I can’t stop --” The electricity jumped from his hand to the nearest building, which was still a good thirty feet away. Something popped loudly and the lights inside went out. All down the row of buildings, the lights flicked and burnt out, and in their stead, small fires flared where the electrical wires connected to the buildings. Lincoln’s eyes widened. “Oh, no.” When he woke up, heart racing, all he could hear was the crackling of fire and the sound of shouting. When he closed his eyes again to try to shut it all out, all he could see was the spark of white light and the orange of flames. He closed his eyes tighter and tried to get back to the dream so he could see what happened next, but consciousness had already settled in. Whatever hold he had on the dream had slipped away, leaving him with the smell of smoke and singed hair in his nostrils. He sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. “Fuck.” |