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Post by Odin on Sept 22, 2009 23:43:53 GMT -5
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::Odin wasn't sleeping. This had become the usual pattern for him, because when he slept, he dreamed, and when he dreamed, those dreams were nightmares. The result was poor sleeping habits, as he either woke in the middle of the night, unable to fall asleep again, or remained awake half the night until he reached the brink of exhaustion.
He needed to see a psychiatrist. More than that, he needed to see a chemist, because the truth serum's effects could not remain, if he was going to break down and finally talk to someone about this. It had been nearly two years; he obviously had some form of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. His failure to cope was unacceptable. Perhaps he could find a psycho-pharmacologist and tend to both at once.
Sighing, he drained the coffee in his mug; dawn had not yet broken. He was tired, and he had this longing, a need that built itself deep in the pit of his chest and radiated outward. He wanted to talk to someone who might understand, or who would at the very least sympathize with him. He paused mid-thought. Was he actually longing to lay his head in someone else's lap, in hopes of being soothed by fingers running through his hair and whispering his name, telling him that everything would be fine?
With a sigh, he realized that was precisely his longing.
What was he to do? Was he seriously contemplating making this telephone call? If he did, what was he to say: "I'm sorry to wake you in the middle of the night, and I know we decided to go our separate ways, but I'm having nightmares?" He could imagine how that would go over, after so long without contact.
He sighed again and glanced at the telephone; it would be so easy to give in to temptation and place the call...yet, he didn't know how it would go over, and he wasn't so bold as to experiment. He rose from the table and put his mug in the sink, before walking towards the washroom for a shower; he would see how he felt after he was clean and dressed. He might just have to place that call.::
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Post by Odin on Oct 18, 2009 21:03:26 GMT -5
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::Odin's cellular phone had gone off in the late evening; as he had no land line, he always checked the number first to see whether it was business or personal. It was an unfamiliar number, but as this wasn't the office, and business hours had long ended, he assumed it was personal, and he answered,:: "Odin."
::The voice on the other end was distraught and also unfamiliar. There were mumbles about how this must be a wrong number, and the connection was severed. He settled back in to finish his book, when his phone rang a second time. A quick glance told him this was the same number, and he answered it again,:: "Odin. What can I do for you?"
::That same unfamiliar voice sounded confused, obviously not expecting him. He cut her off, stating,:: "If you're reading the number from somewhere, it isn't a wrong number."
::The voice on the other end gave an explanation of who he was expected to be, and it was obvious that this person was unfamiliar with mutant naming conventions. His voice grew gentler,:: “No, this is Douglas Stevens; it’s a nickname.”
::As he listened to the woman on the other end of the connection, a frown formed on his lips. He was alone, and he needn’t school his expression.: “What happened?”
::His frown deepened as he listened to the explanation. In response to a question, he replied,:: “I haven’t been in Hyde Park for almost two years...Ma’am, if I were in Chicago, I’d be outside right now trying to catch a bus.”
::There was another question, and he replied,:: “In Manhattan, New York.” ::A pause while he listened to a comment from her.:: “Whatever file you have is out of date; I’ve been here for almost two years.”
::There was more information to be conveyed, and he listened while reaching for a post-it note and the closest writing implement he could reach. He scribbled down a few notes to himself, but didn’t ask for her telephone number; he could save it in his cellular. When she finished speaking, he cut in,:: “Thank you for taking the time to call. I...appreciate it. Truly.”
::With that, the connection was severed, and he stared down at his telephone, then at the post-it note. This was a genuine dilemma, as every instinct he had implored him to dress, hail a taxi cab, and purchase a ticket to O’Hare on standby. At the same time, his rationality told him this was impossible: he had obligations here, and he wouldn’t be well-received in Chicago. The call had been a formality. From a kind-hearted stranger who didn’t know any of the parties involved.
The rational thought did little to calm him or the nagging urge to make the effort. To be there.
Memories flooded his mind. Fingers through his hair, encouraging him in a soft voice that everything would be all right. The faint odor of cigarette smoke...he had no stomach for that any longer.
Suddenly, he was cold.
He climbed out of bed, knowing that he was behaving irrationally, but he felt he was entitled. He wrapped his arms around himself, hands brushed his shoulders in a vain attempt to warm them, to counteract sensations that were emotional rather than physical. Unsurprisingly, he succeeded in only feeling ridiculous; he was an adult. He was an adult, with a life here, a job, responsibilities, and he *wasn’t* wanted in Chicago. That last thought was the deciding factor, because he would drop his job and responsibilities if only he were needed or wanted. He had told the truth about being in the street trying to hail a taxi cab.
He sighed, trying to sort through his instincts and his intellect. The latter reasserting itself over emotions and baser instincts, he let his arms drop to his sides.
It had been too long, and he couldn’t react to his rationally. Because he was not wanted, was not needed, and yet...He glanced at the telephone again, and made his decision. If he needed to find balance…
It was time to place that call he’d been avoiding.::
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Post by Odin on Jan 4, 2010 23:04:03 GMT -5
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((OOC: This occurs after "Returning to Manhattan."))
::After his flight had landed, Odin had found a taxi and taken it back to his apartment building in Manhattan. He had tipped the driver, and then taken his three bags up to his apartment. After putting away the most necessary of the items, he made himself comfortable on his bed and pulled out his cellular phone; it was time to place that call. Entering Typhoid's number, he waited for her to answer.::
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Post by Typhoid on Jan 4, 2010 23:18:43 GMT -5
Typhoid was in her dorm at NYU, gathering up various things for classes in the morning. She didn't like being back at school- she felt too vulnerable, and there were too many people. But she had no choice in the matter, and often was able to simply distract herself long enough to make it through. Her phone rang, and she picked it up. "Hello?"
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Post by Odin on Jan 4, 2010 23:21:16 GMT -5
::Upon hearing her answer, Odin identified himself,:: "Hello Typhoid. It's Odin."
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Post by Typhoid on Jan 4, 2010 23:24:49 GMT -5
She came to a standstill in the middle of her room, which caused several things to happen at once. The pile of notebooks that had been precariously balanced in one hand fell partially onto the floor and partially onto the nearby table, which upset both her drink and a microwave meal she was eating at the time. The drink, of course, landed on a newly printed copy of a paper due tomorrow. She cursed absently. "Sh*t...sorry. Hi."
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Post by Odin on Jan 4, 2010 23:26:04 GMT -5
::It was not the first time that Odin had been greeted with profanity over the telephone, but it still tended to be an unusual event.:: "Is this a bad time?"
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Post by Typhoid on Jan 4, 2010 23:27:56 GMT -5
"No, not really," she said, cradling the phone against her ear with her shoulder. "A copy of a paper just met it's end a la Mountain Dew, is all." It seemed odd making small talk after so long.
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Post by Odin on Jan 4, 2010 23:29:46 GMT -5
::Such were student problems. Fortunately, Mountain Dew was clear. While he talked, Odin began putting away a few of his smaller possessions.:: "Do you have a radiator? That should fix most of the problem if you can't print off another copy."
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Post by Typhoid on Jan 4, 2010 23:32:57 GMT -5
"It should be OK. At least it didn't have to go through the copy service," she said, shrugging and almost dropping the phone with the gesture.
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Post by Odin on Jan 4, 2010 23:35:55 GMT -5
"That's a small favor," ::Odin agreed with her, and he pulled out the bottle of pills he had been prescribed. Deciding for once to cut to the heart of the matter at hand, he said,:: "I'm back."
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Post by Typhoid on Jan 4, 2010 23:38:57 GMT -5
She went completely still. "Back...as in back?" It sounded like a ridiculous question, and maybe it was, but after so long without powers, learning to live without powers, she'd almost put the possibility of ever regaining them completely to the side.
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Post by Odin on Jan 4, 2010 23:42:02 GMT -5
::The question itself, the pause and the underlying disbelief were all understandable, given the circumstances. Adjusting the glasses on his nose, Odin checked the label on his bottle.:: "Back as in I can appreciate the Empire State Building again. Yes, I'm back."
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Post by Typhoid on Jan 4, 2010 23:48:48 GMT -5
"Well...welcome back?" She wasn't sure what to say, short of several variations of "get the hell over here now and fix me."
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Post by Odin on Jan 4, 2010 23:50:24 GMT -5
"Thanks," ::Odin replied for the sake of politeness, before continuing.:: "What time do your classes end tomorrow?"
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