Post by payne on Aug 31, 2012 0:25:45 GMT -5
Payne was having a bad day. Ed North, one of his senior officers, had asked how he was doing for the third time already, and the artist merely stared at him before blinking and shaking his head slightly. – “I’m sorry. Sorry. I’m just… Tired.” – In Arkham it wasn’t nice at all to look or act too out of the ordinary, people started getting worried you might be losing it. Not that they were too far off the mark. Payne had had a rather violent nightmare with the night his father came back and killed him, and it seemed as if Vorpal sensed that - he could feel them pushing at his mind, scratching, whispering, trying to come out. And with the fact he hadn’t been able to sleep at all, they probably thought it’d be easier. Wouldn’t happen, though, he wouldn’t let them. Luckily, since he looked at least lucid, if not entirely present, and had given a coherent answer - and since most veterans were aware of how the constant noises and interactions could get to the new guys - Ed quickly dismissed him, telling the young officer to take a break and resume duty later. The artist wanted to argue, but he had nothing, so did as instructed. He had a different destination in mind, however.
Payne waited until he was far enough before taking a detour, his vision blurring for a second as he rounded a corner. The artist stopped for a moment, fighting down whoever was trying to get into the driver’s seat with all he had. After a few minutes, he was moving again, breathing deeply. Didn’t take very long to get to the lockers and retrieve his package, but it did take longer than it should’ve. Pushing that thought aside, the newcomer was back on his way to a very specific cell, hoping he could maintain control until he was there, his head having started to really hurt. – [Don’t you fail me now.] – It was a somewhat complicated wish, but then again, whenever he really needed something, it seemed to have a positive effect on the outcome. But that could be just wishful thinking. It didn’t matter, he needed to see her, no way around it. And so the artist’s eyes filled with red for a moment. And there he was. The hallways were completely empty, the other cells silent and dark. It looked like the only person other than him in all of Arkham was now Dr Pamela Isley – aka Poison Ivy – and he could see her through the reinforced glass, just being perfect, right there. The artist let his back rest against the wall opposite to the woman’s cell, sliding down to the floor and trying to keep both the pain and his breathing under control. Without thinking about it, his hand found the white-gold rose pendant that had belonged to Payne’s mother, and he clutched it until the metallic petals dug into his hand, blood trickling down and onto his uniform.
A minute went by. Then another. Payne wasn’t sure if Pamela could see him well, every single light in the hall seemed to have been dimmed. But he could see her, and it helped. That was probably the worst part about it, seeing an insane murderous criminal helped him feel better, helped him find himself inside that broken mind of his. – [Maybe I should get my own cell here.] – It sounded a lot less funny than he’d hoped, and left a bitter taste in the artist’s mouth. Still, some moments later, he was basically in complete control of himself again, still staring at the redhead. She was beautiful. He had always thought that, even when she was completely human. – “Thanks.” – Payne knew she wouldn’t understand – nor care – but that wasn’t the first time he’d been saved by her. If Vorpal came out while he was inside Arkham… He closed his eyes, feeling a shiver crawl up his spine at the thought. – [Thank you.]
Payne waited until he was far enough before taking a detour, his vision blurring for a second as he rounded a corner. The artist stopped for a moment, fighting down whoever was trying to get into the driver’s seat with all he had. After a few minutes, he was moving again, breathing deeply. Didn’t take very long to get to the lockers and retrieve his package, but it did take longer than it should’ve. Pushing that thought aside, the newcomer was back on his way to a very specific cell, hoping he could maintain control until he was there, his head having started to really hurt. – [Don’t you fail me now.] – It was a somewhat complicated wish, but then again, whenever he really needed something, it seemed to have a positive effect on the outcome. But that could be just wishful thinking. It didn’t matter, he needed to see her, no way around it. And so the artist’s eyes filled with red for a moment. And there he was. The hallways were completely empty, the other cells silent and dark. It looked like the only person other than him in all of Arkham was now Dr Pamela Isley – aka Poison Ivy – and he could see her through the reinforced glass, just being perfect, right there. The artist let his back rest against the wall opposite to the woman’s cell, sliding down to the floor and trying to keep both the pain and his breathing under control. Without thinking about it, his hand found the white-gold rose pendant that had belonged to Payne’s mother, and he clutched it until the metallic petals dug into his hand, blood trickling down and onto his uniform.
A minute went by. Then another. Payne wasn’t sure if Pamela could see him well, every single light in the hall seemed to have been dimmed. But he could see her, and it helped. That was probably the worst part about it, seeing an insane murderous criminal helped him feel better, helped him find himself inside that broken mind of his. – [Maybe I should get my own cell here.] – It sounded a lot less funny than he’d hoped, and left a bitter taste in the artist’s mouth. Still, some moments later, he was basically in complete control of himself again, still staring at the redhead. She was beautiful. He had always thought that, even when she was completely human. – “Thanks.” – Payne knew she wouldn’t understand – nor care – but that wasn’t the first time he’d been saved by her. If Vorpal came out while he was inside Arkham… He closed his eyes, feeling a shiver crawl up his spine at the thought. – [Thank you.]