Desmond remembers pain like nothing else he'd experienced. No injury, no stabbing, no gun wound, nothing could compare to what felt like electricity burning every part of his body from the inside out. His world didn't black out soon enough but it did mercifully soon. And then he wakes up, blurrily, no longer feeling like he was made of fire but nothing is familiar.
"Dad?," he murmurs first. Did he come back and get him? What about the others? This room looks like nothing familiar and he's not wearing his clothes. The sun is so bright and he rolls out of bed way from it, still feeling faint, and then struggles to get to his feet and figure out where he's at. If there was someone else in the bedroom, Desmond doesn't notice, instead he stumbles down the stairs, squinting at this odd place. The photos make no sense. The old television makes no sense. Where did they bring him now?
He moves out of the door to look around and the light is blinding yet again, causing him to just sit on the doorstop, his head pounding, so very confused. "What the fuck," is all he manages to mumble.
Don't be a square!
Things don't make more sense and Desmond's fairly certain he's stuck in some kind of in-between consciousness world again. Sometimes when looking at the pictures he starts to think maybe this is real, but it's complicated, and his head feels like it's always swimming these days. He confusedly takes all the food that is delivered by eerily smiling people. He never grew up in a neighborhood, let alone one straight out of an old TV sitcom.
He figures maybe he could get some answers or a bead on what the hell his mind or outside forces are doing to him now if he goes out. Desmond isn't shy by nature so he is only cautious when he approaches the unexpected block party because this place has been slowly creeping him out since he arrived. He's used to tending a bar and making small talk with everyone who comes in, but it's been awhile, he's rusty.
Someone hands him food (or did he unknowingly get it himself?) but when the person moves to put the hat on his head, he reaches out and snatches the wrist sharply. His instincts are still fast and defensive, and he's not holding it all that nicely. He pushes them aware quickly and then realizes he's not exactly acting in the spirit, is he?
"Sorry. Um. New?" If anything the lack of real reactions to his behavior deepens the weirdness. Desmond moves back over to the food table.
"Where's the booze. I need a vat of it," he asks the nearest person, whether or not they're part of this group.
Always Respect the Dead
Desmond has never had a Halloween before. That's not a thing where he's from. They used to do something fun at the bar for it, decorations and specialized drinks, but no trick-or-treating. He wanders the neighborhood curiously, having found the outskirts of the town but not gone anywhere, and he tries to resist being given any candy.
"No, it's cool, I'm not." A kid. Trick-or-treating. No one ever takes no apparently. "Fucking hell." He mutters under his breath and takes as few things back. He doesn't look at them when he gets back to the house, or the television that might've been a warning. He's not at his best currently.
When the doorbell rings he winces because he for sure doesn't think he has any candy for them. He does have what he was given so he figures he'll do his best, opening the door to find what has to be the start of a legitimate horror movie standing in front of him. "Those are some ... real good costumes ...." They seem like they plan on coming in and Desmond's concern starts to rise. "Uh, no, here, wait."
They push their way in and since they're kids (creepy as fuck kids) he just steps back. Then they pounce. Luckily his instincts and skills are still intact, even if it took him a bit to realize the situation. If his Eagle Sight was working he would've already known, but nothing's working quite right. Desmond dodges and moves smoothly, the attacks being avoided rather than hit back. But he can't do it forever. After they manage to land a blow and pain snaps through him, so does his control snap.
Desmond fights back, breaking limbs, still trying not to kill, but they don't seem to even care when he twists arms and slams down knees. "Night of the Living Dead, goddamnit." He snags two by the back of the neck and flings them right out the door, following behind to try and get them out of the house and after him. He notices there are houses with flames lit and people inside doing just fine, so zigs and zags and pounds on one of them. Will they let him in?
Wildcard
[Message me on plurk if you have questions/ideas.]
Desmond Miles | Assassin's Creed | OTA
Desmond remembers pain like nothing else he'd experienced. No injury, no stabbing, no gun wound, nothing could compare to what felt like electricity burning every part of his body from the inside out. His world didn't black out soon enough but it did mercifully soon. And then he wakes up, blurrily, no longer feeling like he was made of fire but nothing is familiar.
"Dad?," he murmurs first. Did he come back and get him? What about the others? This room looks like nothing familiar and he's not wearing his clothes. The sun is so bright and he rolls out of bed way from it, still feeling faint, and then struggles to get to his feet and figure out where he's at. If there was someone else in the bedroom, Desmond doesn't notice, instead he stumbles down the stairs, squinting at this odd place. The photos make no sense. The old television makes no sense. Where did they bring him now?
He moves out of the door to look around and the light is blinding yet again, causing him to just sit on the doorstop, his head pounding, so very confused. "What the fuck," is all he manages to mumble.
Don't be a square!
Things don't make more sense and Desmond's fairly certain he's stuck in some kind of in-between consciousness world again. Sometimes when looking at the pictures he starts to think maybe this is real, but it's complicated, and his head feels like it's always swimming these days. He confusedly takes all the food that is delivered by eerily smiling people. He never grew up in a neighborhood, let alone one straight out of an old TV sitcom.
He figures maybe he could get some answers or a bead on what the hell his mind or outside forces are doing to him now if he goes out. Desmond isn't shy by nature so he is only cautious when he approaches the unexpected block party because this place has been slowly creeping him out since he arrived. He's used to tending a bar and making small talk with everyone who comes in, but it's been awhile, he's rusty.
Someone hands him food (or did he unknowingly get it himself?) but when the person moves to put the hat on his head, he reaches out and snatches the wrist sharply. His instincts are still fast and defensive, and he's not holding it all that nicely. He pushes them aware quickly and then realizes he's not exactly acting in the spirit, is he?
"Sorry. Um. New?" If anything the lack of real reactions to his behavior deepens the weirdness. Desmond moves back over to the food table.
"Where's the booze. I need a vat of it," he asks the nearest person, whether or not they're part of this group.
Always Respect the Dead
Desmond has never had a Halloween before. That's not a thing where he's from. They used to do something fun at the bar for it, decorations and specialized drinks, but no trick-or-treating. He wanders the neighborhood curiously, having found the outskirts of the town but not gone anywhere, and he tries to resist being given any candy.
"No, it's cool, I'm not." A kid. Trick-or-treating. No one ever takes no apparently. "Fucking hell." He mutters under his breath and takes as few things back. He doesn't look at them when he gets back to the house, or the television that might've been a warning. He's not at his best currently.
When the doorbell rings he winces because he for sure doesn't think he has any candy for them. He does have what he was given so he figures he'll do his best, opening the door to find what has to be the start of a legitimate horror movie standing in front of him. "Those are some ... real good costumes ...." They seem like they plan on coming in and Desmond's concern starts to rise. "Uh, no, here, wait."
They push their way in and since they're kids (creepy as fuck kids) he just steps back. Then they pounce. Luckily his instincts and skills are still intact, even if it took him a bit to realize the situation. If his Eagle Sight was working he would've already known, but nothing's working quite right. Desmond dodges and moves smoothly, the attacks being avoided rather than hit back. But he can't do it forever. After they manage to land a blow and pain snaps through him, so does his control snap.
Desmond fights back, breaking limbs, still trying not to kill, but they don't seem to even care when he twists arms and slams down knees. "Night of the Living Dead, goddamnit." He snags two by the back of the neck and flings them right out the door, following behind to try and get them out of the house and after him. He notices there are houses with flames lit and people inside doing just fine, so zigs and zags and pounds on one of them. Will they let him in?
Wildcard
[Message me on plurk if you have questions/ideas.]