Connor Reilly (son_of_angel) wrote in zombielandlogs, @ 2019-02-28 06:52:00 |
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Entry tags: | buffy verse: connor |
Who: Connor
Where: Prison
When: After his dad's first "disappearance"
What: Raiding prep
RWarnings: Nothing too serious, just language
Status: Complete/Narrative
Word Count: 1095
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His father was gone. Gone! He could not believe this. He could, honestly, but didn't want to. Even though he knew it was reality. What the hell was this, how was that even fair? Was this a normal thing that usually happened to people here? He had been told that it was, before. It wasn't like he hadn't believed it at he time. He had heard of other people 'leaving', actually. So it was not completely a foreign concept for the young man to grasp. It was just the first time it was now happening to him. And okay, maybe he hadn't expected to feel hurt by it. To be separated from his father, from Angel, the man whom he had finally been able to accept and get along with. Very unlike when they had first met. And while he had recently said he didn't want to make this a 'thing' and being a bit calm and clinical about it, he did really care about him now. And for the first time, it was like they were actually becoming a family for once.
But now those dreams had been dashed. Expectations and hopes and plans had now evaporated. Of course, he had also heard that those who leave? That they sometimes come back. Right, okay. That was nice? But just how long would he have to wait for that, Connor thought as he slipped on some comfortable clothes, including a wool jacket he found on a raid, and a scarf, and hat. How long would he be waiting? A day? Week? Few weeks, or a month? Maybe even as a long as a year. Or never? That was always a possibility as well. It was an unknown. Connor was finding that he didn't like unknowns. He'd finally been happy, and they were a family with his father, and mother too. But then those plans were disrupted. There was literally nothing he could do about that. Nothing.
"Ugh, goddammit!", he suddenly sighed, punch his wall and leaving a small dent. His scarred knuckles had already begun to heal. But the pain he felt inside didn't feel like it was going to subside anytime soon. He hated feeling this powerless. He could fight a lot of things. Kill a lot of things. And he had, really. Huge, ugly, monstrous things, beats that some in their worst couldn't even begin to imagine in their worst nightmares. But this? Fighting something like this, it was impossible. Nothing he could do to control that. But you can control how you deal with it, he suddenly thought then, giving a slight nod of assent. That sounded like something he read in a self-help book somewhere. Or something his father Angel would tell him. Was it? He would like to think so. "Okay, fine, enough of this moping bullshit," he groaned softly, sliding his gloves and boots on next.
Great. What else did he need? For people not to leave, he mentally quipped at himself. Ignoring that for now, he checked his box in the room. He would need a few weapons. He found a couple long knives, which he holstered under his belt, and then the medieval axe which he pulled from its hiding place under the bed. Might be heavy for some people. But for him, it was just right, and light enough to hold or swing one-handed without much effort. He could admit that sometimes he sometimes had ignored this side of himself, but Connor was clearly a warrior. Destroyer, that was what he was called. And maybe a few other colorful, fearsome names he had received as a child of twelve years, But of course, those who'd called him that were evil demons. He liked this axe weapon, and knew how to use it. "Hmm... right, one more thing," he mused to himself, grabbing a large backpack. The young lad couldn't very well raid without that, right? Right.
He glanced around the room once more, then looked at himself in the mirror, hands padding around himself one more time. Checking to make sure he had all he needed before he headed out. The last thing he wanted to happen was to already have gone out a few miles away from the prison and suddenly realize that, oh fucking shit, he had forgotten something. So he took a few minutes to collect his thoughts and mentally run through everything he had on him. A mental checklist, if you will. Hm, well, seemed like college had been a good thing after, he thought mildly. "Okay. Well, looks like I'm good to go." Shrugging, he made his way out of the cell and slid the door shut behind him, making his way down the hall, then down the stairway, stopping in front of the desk in the lobby. Almost ready, he just wrote his name on the sign-out sheet, with 'raid' next it as the reason or purpose of departure, and then continued on his way. Just one more, final stop and he would be ready.
Having made his way to the sub-level parking garage, he found his Honda dirtbike. Yet something else he found on a raid and took for himself. He checked the oil and gas to make sure nothing more was needed. Nope, it was still good. At least for several more two-way trips and then he'd need a refill. Well, unless he was planning to travel out of the city, but who would even want to? He had heard it was even worse beyond the city limits. Not that he had checked himself. Maybe he would one day, or ask another to. But that would not be today.
For today, he needed to go out of these prison and clear his head, which he could do while raiding for the community. He's good at multi-tasking like that, or at least he would say so if he were asked. Maybe even if he wasn't asked. And so, letting out a deep, frustrated sigh, he got on the motorbike and sped out to the entrance, where the front gates were opened for him. "Hey, going on a raid," he spoke to one of the sentries as he rode past. "Try not to have too much fun without me," he laughed jokingly as he waved bye and rode out into the city. Alone at last. Ready to loot buildings, compress some feelings, and if it came to it, kicking some zombie ass for good measure. Now that would almost make this a good day.