teacher_man (teacher_man) wrote in zenithrp, @ 2017-07-14 03:36:00 |
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Entry tags: | #day 085, marco |
Who: Douglas and Open Marco
When: 8:30 am
Where: Third floor hallway
Why did his head hurt? Actually, why did his... everything hurt? Had he and the guys over done it last night after a game? It didn't exactly feel like a hangover. It felt more like he'd over done it at the gym and then lost a match in the ring immediately thereafter. He was fairly certain that didn't happen though. He should open his eyes, get out of bed, figure out what in the world he'd done to make him feel like this, but man, oh man was the very idea of doing that taking a lot of effort.
He lay there, still as the grave, for a while, just breathing willing the ache to fade. He wasn't certain how long he'd been just laying there when he decided that all the feelings he still had were manageable, but he also supposed that it didn't really matter. He cracked open one eye and groaned as pain lanced through his eye and directly into his brain. It was like he'd been in the dark for years and his eyes had forgotten how to process the light. He took a deep breath and forced his eyes open to stare at the ceiling. Everything was fuzzy, blended together slightly like a water color because he wasn't wearing his glasses, but that was definitely a completely unfamiliar ceiling.
He pushed himself up into a sitting position. Okay, next mystery; ignoring the cardboard box on the floor in front of him that was demanding to be opened until a later time, where was he? Not only was this not his bedroom, it was a bedroom he was sure he'd never seem in the whole of his life. Actually, taking the time to look around it did remind him quite a bit of his office on campus only a bit bigger and with a bed in it. It was definitely not his room though, he was certain of that.
"Where are we? What am I doing here?"
He felt a mild surge of panic as his father's voice flitted through his mind. He too had been lost and confused in his own home, certain it was a new place he didn't belong in. Was that what this was? A symptom of early onset? Would he remember everything in a moment, including that this was, in fact, his room? He took a calming breath, slid his legs over the side of the bed allowing his feet to touch the floor and did the exercise.
"My name is Douglas Matthew Edwards. I am 55 years old. I was born on July 16th. My parents are James and Mary Edwards. I have 2 siblings, an older brother, James Junior and a younger sister, Karen. I have five nieces and nephews; Barbara, Stanley, Brandon, Samantha and Alice. I hold 4 degrees including a PhD. I am a professor of History at Boston University where I have been teaching for 19 years. Henri de Tonti was born in 1649 in Gaeta, Italy. He died in 1704 in Mobile, Alabama."
Okay, that's good, that was easy and he was sure it was all correct. So, no, this wasn't his worse nightmare coming to pass. This was... something else. He rose to his feet. He felt slightly unsteady, like getting out of bed for the first time after battling the flu and spending several days in bed. Once he was sure that his legs weren't going to give out on him he started to move toward the door. Only he didn't get very far before there was a tug on his hand followed by a sharp pain.
He looked down at his hand to find that he was attached to an IV. This was also the moment he noticed the fact that he was in a hospital gown and that he was tagged by the weirdest i.d. bracelet he'd ever seen. He took hold of the IV line near the tape that held the needled in place and yanked it out with a quick flick of his wrist. He pressed the tape tightly over the small pearl of blood that appeared and resumed his trek to the door.
It was locked. As were the windows. So, locked in a strange room that felt like it was tailored for him, IV of unknown origin pumping an unknown substance into his veins, and a creepy Alice in Wonderlandesque box on the floor. What else? He blinked rapidly to try and clear his head a bit more. That was when he noticed the computer and it's blinking light that seemed to be insisting on attention.
He moved to the desk where the computer sat, looked around briefly for his glasses, pulled out the chair and sat down. He stared at it for a moment before reaching out and hitting the space bar on the keyboard. The screen sprang to life as if it had been waiting for him. There were two programs on the desktop. One label 'The Network' and the other 'Santa's Workshop'. Curiouser and Curiouser. He opened the network and followed the prompts to sign in. He blinked at the screen for a moment then began to type. The moment he hit 'post' he heard the distinct sounds of automated locks unlatching. He rubbed lightly at the sore spot on the back of his neck.
A moment later he was standing in front of the door again. He turned the handle and pushed open the door, taking a few tentative steps into the hallway beyond.
"Hello?"