Post by Decimus on Aug 11, 2015 8:39:27 GMT -8
July 31st, 2015 - 4:50 PM
He hated this part. There were still remnants of blood under his fingernails as he followed the flashes of sight imparted to him, turn by turn directed to his driver. Kurt sat back in the seat, pinching the bridge of his nose, as if the action would slow down the bizarre imagery that accosted his own senses -- all of them, through some means he had no interest in knowing.
"Stop the car here," was the next thing uttered, hands moving to a hot towel that had been cooling in the night air. Maybe this would mask some of that offal smell that he swore he would smell for weeks now. That's how it generally worked, even if others couldn't smell it.
Stepping out of the sedan and onto the street, he could see the weakest willed in the alley darting from the bright lamps projected by the British's latest bespoke creation, while the more curious gazed on in some sort of awe. He blinked, 'seeing' a young Marlon Brando behind his eyelids. Strange, he thought. I didn't know that signal made it out that far. He paused, letting the door close behind him, looking between each pair of insightful eyes.
The first was some street urchin female, probably having run away from a broken home caused by infidelity and drug induced stupor of one or both of those that spawned her. This one wasn't it, no regal bearing whatsoever.
Another was an overweight vagrant, probably more strung out than the rest, judging by the vacant look in the gaze that was directed towards Kurt. Too old, any sense of potential lost.
It was the third that stuck out, something about the boy's brow-line and nose.
A hand went inside his jacket, reaching for a billfold instinctively. "Don? Your grandparents sent me, you don't have to go back, they just want you to get some food and get checked out by a doctor." A handful of twenties came out, knowing this type all too well. If Don went somewhere with a hundred, the kid would be picked up by the police in short order.
The kid said something inconsequential. He could see that the ageless terror of what waited behind Kurt's voice was taking hold already, the teenager babbling something about missing his family or whatever. Whatever Don knew before wouldn't matter, his future was destined elsewhere. It was divined hours before, and Kurt needed to visit an unlicensed masseuse after this much driving around. Unwind. Try to forget what he'd seen tracking down Don. Donald? It didn't matter.
Time jumped for Kurt when he did this. Or maybe he just repressed the memories, an instinctive effort following the revocation of Don's own past. All he knew was that he'd done something, hands cradling broken shards of reflective glass as he lay in the long chair of the Gulfstream's plush upholstery. Behind him was Don. Blindfolded, bound, and with an enormous set of headphones on. Oregon would be an hour away, at best speed. Just a few hours until Don became something he wouldn't understand immediately.
The way Kurt figured, though, he was saving at least a couple of lives. Don and whatever unfortunate sap was around him when Don changed first. Whenever Don raged, and lost himself to his new life for the first time. Maybe more, if Don's new protectors didn't inform someone of Don's change.
What was a few hours of memories when lives were at stake?
He hated this part. There were still remnants of blood under his fingernails as he followed the flashes of sight imparted to him, turn by turn directed to his driver. Kurt sat back in the seat, pinching the bridge of his nose, as if the action would slow down the bizarre imagery that accosted his own senses -- all of them, through some means he had no interest in knowing.
"Stop the car here," was the next thing uttered, hands moving to a hot towel that had been cooling in the night air. Maybe this would mask some of that offal smell that he swore he would smell for weeks now. That's how it generally worked, even if others couldn't smell it.
Stepping out of the sedan and onto the street, he could see the weakest willed in the alley darting from the bright lamps projected by the British's latest bespoke creation, while the more curious gazed on in some sort of awe. He blinked, 'seeing' a young Marlon Brando behind his eyelids. Strange, he thought. I didn't know that signal made it out that far. He paused, letting the door close behind him, looking between each pair of insightful eyes.
The first was some street urchin female, probably having run away from a broken home caused by infidelity and drug induced stupor of one or both of those that spawned her. This one wasn't it, no regal bearing whatsoever.
Another was an overweight vagrant, probably more strung out than the rest, judging by the vacant look in the gaze that was directed towards Kurt. Too old, any sense of potential lost.
It was the third that stuck out, something about the boy's brow-line and nose.
A hand went inside his jacket, reaching for a billfold instinctively. "Don? Your grandparents sent me, you don't have to go back, they just want you to get some food and get checked out by a doctor." A handful of twenties came out, knowing this type all too well. If Don went somewhere with a hundred, the kid would be picked up by the police in short order.
The kid said something inconsequential. He could see that the ageless terror of what waited behind Kurt's voice was taking hold already, the teenager babbling something about missing his family or whatever. Whatever Don knew before wouldn't matter, his future was destined elsewhere. It was divined hours before, and Kurt needed to visit an unlicensed masseuse after this much driving around. Unwind. Try to forget what he'd seen tracking down Don. Donald? It didn't matter.
Time jumped for Kurt when he did this. Or maybe he just repressed the memories, an instinctive effort following the revocation of Don's own past. All he knew was that he'd done something, hands cradling broken shards of reflective glass as he lay in the long chair of the Gulfstream's plush upholstery. Behind him was Don. Blindfolded, bound, and with an enormous set of headphones on. Oregon would be an hour away, at best speed. Just a few hours until Don became something he wouldn't understand immediately.
The way Kurt figured, though, he was saving at least a couple of lives. Don and whatever unfortunate sap was around him when Don changed first. Whenever Don raged, and lost himself to his new life for the first time. Maybe more, if Don's new protectors didn't inform someone of Don's change.
What was a few hours of memories when lives were at stake?