Who: Jordan, Milo (Pluto) and eventually Dani. When: Monday, mid afternoon. Where: NY Pres. What: Revelations, memories. Rating: High for violent flashbacks and bad memories.
There came a time when the constant tests, evaluations and rounds of curious doctors got to be more than enough; Jordan was well past that point. In his opinion, he'd been pestered for the four days he'd been awake. Pestered, prodded and poked, all the while that they made it clear that he wasn't at his best. If the lack of proper and understandable speech didn't make that obvious, than that phone book they'd thrown at him did. They'd asked him to look up in there where one could buy flowers and bread. All good, except that he couldn't quite remember what a florist was called like. And if there was anything he hated, it was being shoved headfirst into what he couldn't do. Especially when they said he would improve.
Of course he fucking would.
When hadn't he ever crawled right back up again somehow? One could argue that was the thing he did best. Of course, on those particular occasions, he hadn't exactly gotten a bullet to the head. There was still a headache there, still spells when the world around him went dangerously dark, but he was talking. There were lengthy pauses, but that was to be expected. And, he was walking again. Slowly and he needed to something to lean on, but he was walking.
See? He was fucking improving.
But all that hard work still didn't eradicate the memory of a stranger coming into his room, touching his hand and talking to him as if they were ... something? A stranger. A fucking stranger with a killer's eyes. It had rattled him more than he dared to let on - but then he was fucking back into his room. How? And he raised his eyebrows as if to ask him.