Connor Bone // Jamie Madrox THE MULTIPLE MAN (crowdofmyself) wrote in thereincarnates, @ 2012-07-20 19:42:00 |
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Entry tags: | connor bone, jennifer hill |
WHO: Jen Hill and Connor Bone
WHEN: Friday evening, after Connor wakes up
WHERE: Connor's temporary holding cell.
WHAT: Some emotional bonding and reunited family.
WARNINGS: It's probably going to be emotional. Read with tissues?
It had been a long night, or so he heard. For Connor, it was the fastest night he'd ever experienced, as he wasn't conscious for most of it. It wasn't to say he wasn't going through a shitload of bullshit while his subconscious tried to work through what the fuck had happened, but dealing with nightmares took a lot less time in a sense than watching an unconscious friend. He wasn't entirely sure which he would have preferred. Of course, he wasn't sure of much of anything at the moment.
The cell that was hastily built by the Avengers team wasn't anything to scoff at. It had a comfortable bed for him, a bathroom and shower for him to clean up in--which he took advantage of as soon as he woke up, hoping that the water spray would help him sort out his jumbled thoughts--even a desk, which somebody had thoughtfully (not) placed a stack of his work papers for if he wanted to get caught up on everything he'd missed while he was running around being Loki's bitch. Considering there was nowhere to go at the moment, it was a bit thoughtful. Though the note Wes had left was a bit hard to decipher.
While there was 'entertainment' to keep him busy on the desk, Connor avoided looking at it for longer than it took to discern that it was work. Instead, he found himself sitting on the bed with his gaze locked on the mirror across from him as he tried to understand the person reflecting back at him. His eyes were their normal green, though there was pain reflecting in them that was a stark contrast to the dead look he knew he wore since Logan's party. Water dripped from his hair down his forehead, and Connor frowned. This was real time. He was really there.
He pulled his shirt angrily over his head, the shock-absorbant pads instantly molding to his chest to prevent any unintentional cloning from simple toe-stubbing or face-palming. It was a temporary distraction from the constant barrage of images in his mind as he remembered his actions: the code input screen, the explosion, attacking Jen. The last image provoked him to move, palms rubbing furiously against his face while the sound of the cell door opening echoed through the room. He had a visitor.
"They should put a warning plaque on the door. 'Warning: Vicious Criminal. Do not allow around children.'"