Odin's Apartment

[miranda]

"That's true," Stacy agreed, slowly swilling her gin in her glass before knocking it back.

[Odin]

"We can scour the orphanages in the morning," ::Odin said resolutely. He then set his glass down and removed his glasses to clean them.::

[miranda]

Stacy smirked a little, getting to her feet and picking up their used pots to carry them over the sink to wash later. "So, what are you doing now?"

[Odin]

::Not that Odin had a choice in the matter of answering, but he would do so honestly, not merely because of the compulsion, but because she was his roommate, and they had become friends.:: "Likely I'll pretend to do work for an hour or two and then go out to meet Morph for a bit."

[miranda]

"Alright then," she said, dusting crumbs off her hands before she turned to face him. "Make sure you remember which bedroom is yours if you come home pissed."

[Odin]

::Although Odin fully intended to drink throughout the night, and to talk through what had happened at the rally, he didn't intend to get drunk. The time he had run into Paige had been more than enough of that, considering how low his tolerance was.

He rose from the table to cap the bottle of gin and put it back in the cabinet they used to store liquor.:: "I will. After all, the last thing you need is me in bed with you."

[miranda]

"I'll kick you out, because I'm nice like that," she said in a playful tone before she headed back into the living room to watch more television.

[Odin]

::Odin all but rolled his eyes to himself, although he was faced away from her, at the liquor cabinet.:: "You wouldn't be the first, Stacy."

[miranda]

Stacy's laughter carried through from the room as she passed the threshold, heading over to the couch. After all, Odin had said he wanted to do work and she didn't want to distract him.

[Odin]

::Odin checked his pocket for the painkillers he kept. Finding them, he left the kitchen through the other exit, which led into the corridor where his bedroom was. He'd work for an hour, or attempt to, although his thoughts would likely distract him. Not that Morph expected anything from him in light of this. He left her to watch television, as at least *one* of them should enjoy herself this evening.::

[Odin]

((OOC: This occurs between the events of "Meeting for Drinks After the Rally" and "A Taste of the New." It's also the beginning of his insomnia bout. Also, there are mild allusions which warrant warning.))

::The room was far too bright due to flourescent lighting, and he had no glasses. There were others there; Odin could sense them, but he couldn't see them. He was bound to a chair, and pain flooded his nervous system from nearly every part of his body; he'd been beaten, and not allowed pain medication. Then a woman began to speak, a woman with a familiar voice, one he hoped never to hear again.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the truth is that mutants are very real, and that they are among us. We must know who they are, and above all, what they can do! You signed the Registration Act into law, but we've had minimal compliance. My solution is simple. I've assembled a group of mutants who were found through the Registration Act, whom I call 'trackers.' All have the ability to sense mutation in one capacity or another. Set them on the mutants of this country who refuse to obey our laws. They're criminals, each and every one who has yet to register. And criminals deserve no leniency."

As was becoming a distressing pattern in his life, Odin awoke from a nightmare. His foot and genitals ached with shadow pain. Nightmares and memories, a dangerous combination.

He was surrounded by darkness, and despite the irrationality of it, preferred to keep it that way. Images were already burned into his mind from the dream, which couldn't fade fast enough for his taste.

He knew the cause; he'd taken only the necessary psychology classes to fulfill his requirement, but these were so blatant. He remembered with perfect clarity the speech Senator Kelly had given to the Senate; he'd been on an assignment in Baltimore at the time, and the news had aired in the laboratory. As for the rest of it, he should recover. It had been a year.

*A year,* he reminded himself, *after which you still find yourself under the effects of a drug, and the political climate is turning back to where it was.*

It was a year nonetheless, and he should be able to control these feelings. He waited for the pain to pass; the genital pain was one with which he'd learned to cope months ago. The foot pain was a new development. He was fortunate he could walk after what had happened; the next time, he wouldn't be able to. He wouldn't survive. That capacity had been taken from him.

It took five minutes for the pains to pass, and after that time, he reached for his glasses, slid them on, and checked the projected time of his alarm clock. It wasn't quite a decent hour, and it was the weekend. He could go back to sleep. He should go back to sleep.

He wouldn't go back to sleep; he'd had more than enough nightmares.

That meant remaining awake and biding his time. He couldn't take the news report this morning, in the off chance they broke their coverage of kittens stuck in trees as was the early morning broadcast to do political coverage.

It was far too early to call anyone, which was a result of not having close contacts and few friends. Even if he had, what would he do, call in the middle of the night because of night terrors? *Or Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.* Thank you, Doctor Odin.

After moments of indecision, he rose from the bed, made it which was habit, and then padded quietly into the bathroom for a shower. It would either wake him up or clear his mind, and either would be welcome.

Like most men, he kept his shower time relatively short from habit. This time, he lingered, and when he finished, he remained in the stall, forehead pressed against the tiles, warm from the shower steam.

There were no physical scars, only mental ones. He remembered clearly, and the shadow pain began again from the introspection. It was a wonder he wasn't sterile, not that he'd test the theory. Not that it would have mattered, if she had won. The thought chilled him, and he reached for a towel to wrap around himself.::

[miranda]

The problem with Odin's insomnia and nightmares, was that living in such a close environment with an empath meant the emotions often passed onto her. In the day, she found it easier to guard herself from the strong emotions, protecting her mentality and her own emotions, able to recognise her own feelings from others. But at night, while she slept, she was unguarded, so when Odin struggled, so did she. She found herself waking somewhat fitfully, from blacked out nightmares that had no sound nor image, just the raw emotion. She lay there for a moment, panting just a little at her head tumbled from the outside feelings, trying to reign in her powers and put up those shields. It was difficult, and had been getting harder day by day as Odin became worse. Right now she didn't know what to do with herself, wanting to scream or cry to get these alien emotions out of her system.

She heard the shower running for a long time, longer than Odin normally spent in there and with the emotions still fresh, she became worried quickly. She pushed back the bed covers, getting to her feet and hurrying quickly to her bedroom door. She peered out onto the corridor, seeing the bathroom door closed. Unable to shake off her concern, nor the emotions still haunting her, she made her way to the door. When the psychological pain began in Odin's foot, she received a glimpse of it herself and almost stumbled in her surprise, trying and failing to force her empath blocks up.

[Odin]

::Odin had taught himself to repress his emotions; he didn't often have negative ones, and he was overall a balanced individual. It hadn't been too difficult to learn for a day-by-day practice, and it had been courtesy, for empaths. He found himself overwhelmed in the wake of the nightmares and the creeping concerns about his and every mutant's future, and it took longer. This morning, it lacked. This was nothing compared to how it had been after the incident, but that was akin to saying that a flame wasn't hot compared to the sun.

Towel around himself, and the shower off, he heard what sounded to be footsteps. He didn't know how long he'd been in there, although it was longer than he usually took. Stacy was a night owl, and he sincerely hoped she was on her way to bed, rather than had been woken by his emotions.::

[miranda]

Stacy cursed quietly under her breath as she limped to the door, then knocking on it a little more hurriedly than necessary. "Odin?" she called, sounding unsurprisingly flustered.

[Odin]

::Odin took a slow, deep breath when he heard the concern in Stacy's voice; he must have bombarded her. Then came another deep breath, and a third; the pains faded, and he forced his memories back into the corner of his mind where he kept all such thoughts. He couldn't feign cheeriness with such a mood, however.

He looked around the bathroom, for something to better cover himself. He had his clothing from yesterday, which he'd prefer not to use; he needed to begin keeping a robe in here. Hand tight around the towel to keep it better in place, he crossed to the door and opened it a crack.:: "I'm sorry for waking you."