Hematologist Edward Dalton... (nothuman_humane) wrote in new_worlds, @ 2010-09-13 21:07:00 |
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Entry tags: | edward dalton, elizabeth collins, jason calderon |
WHO: Edward Dalton and ?
WHAT: The undead can die...
WHEN: Today 11:56pm
WHERE: Edwards Apartment
RATING: R / non-sexual content
STATUS: Incomplete
Edward's keys clanked as he dropped them onto the wooden table beside the door. It had been weeks since he had been home. He'd thought maybe he would have no reason to return there. He thought maybe he would finally have a place to work, a group of outsiders who accepted him as one of their own but now, with Sage gone and Altruism's funding coming into question, his work was cut. They simply couldn't afford him anymore. Once connected to Professor Charles Xavier, Altruism had now lost that patronage through Sage. She was no where to be found. The woman left no trace, no evidence of her sudden disappearance, not even a single computer could connect or track her unique mind. She was simply... gone. Unless Altruism chose another leader they would be disbanded.
Edward spent days personally searching for her. He'd taken to such affection to her. It seemed every woman he had come to love ran out on him. First it was Abigail, then Liz and now Sage. He sat at the counter, smoking, watching the ticking clock go by and listening to it's ominous, monotonous sounds. He watched the grey fumes from his cigarette waft slowly toward the ceiling, swirling and reflecting in the light so gracefully. Surely thee women left for a reason. Who would want to be with a corpse? A cold, dead, pale, cursed creature of the night. He was fowled, diseased and none of his experiments could cure him. Despite all his efforts, his work was futile.
Walking into his make-shift laboratory between the kitchen and living-room, Edward grabbed a bottle of vodka from the cabinet and swigged straight from the bottle, leaning in the threshold, reading over the labels of his failed serums, each with it's date of creation. He scoffed, remembering all the laboratory animals, some dead, some alive, some undead. He sat on a stool and flipped through his notes, gulping down the vodka until the words before him became blurry and he swayed dangerously on the stool, glaring hatefully at the viles. Then, finally he stood, turned, angrily threw the vodka bottle at the wall and watched it break. He turned and began to drink each of the viles, forcing down every drop until every single one was empty.
Immediately after he finished, his body went into shock and he fell to the floor wheezing and seizing, foaming from the mouth from the poison. In his convulsion he bit his tongue and lips and infected himself further, spilling blood across the floor and across his chest. Anyone who had known Edward to conduct experiments would known him to carefully monitor heart-rate and body temperature. He'd thrown caution to the wind. Taking all of those serums was suicide. He was choking on his own blood, poisoned by the substances in his body... little could save him now.