Repose

[Matt D]

Hi. I need your help. Again. Please. I can come get you. If you're available.

[Locked (and encrypted) to Bruce W]
Father.

[Sam A]
Hi. How are you doing? Are you and Cris planning anything with Joey for the holidays?

[Manning T]
[Via text]
10/11-ish days until Christmas.

ETA (after Sam's prompting, not knowing any of the things going on with Daniel):
[Louis D]
Are you prepared for the holidays?

[Locked to Flash M]
Hey. I have permission to go to work (with a guard), and to go to the cafeteria in the facility.

[Group: Jason W & MJ W]
I'm totally going to need you to do me a super big favor.

Once upon a time, the owner of the carnival made a promise. He would find and kill the man who once tortured his ex-wife nearly to death. While Eddie never thought he'd ever get to make good on his promise, one night he was given information about the skull's whereabouts. Eddie didn't hesitate. He left notes and messages for the people close to him about where he was going and why before leaving town completely. His secret santa wasn't forgotten, either. On the night before Christmas, a clown will hand his santa a box with a radio and station number to tune into. As for the person he was a santa for? They'd find what he left them later.

The carnival itself doesn't seem to change overnight. Everything is as magical as Eddie left it. Whoever is now in charge seems willing to let Eddie's vision go on a bit longer.

[Locked to Manning T]
Hey, almost-BiL. How's things?

[Locked to Faye M]
Enjoying this santa bullshit, baby?

[Locked to Lou D]
Hey, Lou, how you doing?

[Locked to Oliver K]
You given some thought to coming back, mijo?

[Locked to Daniel W]
I figure I might as well try, huh?

Who: Atticus & Janus
What: It's all in Atticus' head
Where: Sonrisa's studio, before Atticus regains conciousness
When: Fuzzytime nowish
Warnings/Rating: Zzzzzz

Atticus believed himself to be waking. Wasn't really. Was still lying on the couch in Sonrisa's studio. Was feverish, blood pressure dangerously low. Was unwell. Was resting restlessly, and he wasn't waking, but he believed himself to be waking.

In his dream, he sat up. Was drenched with sweat, wearing something that he didn't recognize. Track pants. Sweatshirt. Was just as pasty and unwashed looking as he was in reality. His curls were plastered to his head and forehead. Was thinner, weight lost during the incident. Wasn't a definition for the incident in his head. Was all it was, the incident, nothing more.

Bruises marred his neck and upper back. No teeth, just bruises, his mind filling in the blanks for soreness and leaving yellowing splotches on his skin.

He sat up on the couch, bare feet against cold floor, and he rubbed his eyes. Wanted a smoke. Wanted some decent music. Wanted a cheeseburger, rare, extra tomatoes. Wanted cookies. But first, he wanted to brush his teeth. Dream-him stood, and he padded to the bathroom, which was near the door of the room his mind constructed. Big, empty room, and a couch against one wall. Big empty bathroom, with only a sink and mirror. Toothbrush and toothpaste were there, on the corner of the sink, and Atticus brushed his teeth vigorously. Wasn't a ghost in sight.