I'm good at shooting people, cracking wise, and pretending to know how to fight.

Nightmares weren't exactly rare for Atton, who'd seen his fair share of poodoo - to put it mildly. These, though, these ran hard: memories of blood and pain and death, battering at his mind until the emergency exit clause kicked in and he veered up in bed, sweating and shivering, everything on hyper-alert burning fear adrenaline for an impossible span of time and just a few minutes, a few seconds--

He threw the blankets off the bed and padded into the living room in his boxers, rubbing at the back of his neck. A little exercise, yeah, that might help get rid of the jittery energy that jumped across his skin like electricity. He rolled his shoulders and turned towards the window in the dining area, hoping Sparks wasn't awake yet. It was always freaking awkward when the kid walked in on him having a meltdown.

He took a deep breath. Then another, deeper breath. There was an itch between his shoulderblades where it felt like someone was gonna shoot him any minute, and a sting in his fingers. He wriggled them to get the feeling out.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Okay.

He stretched his arms out.

They froze halfway into the motion, as a brimstone voice rolled right over him.

( And I get the fool. )

Atton hadn't felt this terrible in at least a year.

But he wasn't spending another month curled up on the floor this time. He'd told Meetra he was going to start brushing things under the cargo ramp again like a normal person-- or at least an abnormal person who didn't inflict his problems on the few people who had deluded themselves into thinking they liked talking to him-- and he was sticking with it.

He just needed to get off the island, and he couldn't go back home, because then he'd have to explain that she came back, just for the weekend, and... no.

Since Portalocity had informed him they couldn't get him a portal anywhere until at least tonight, that meant he had today to sit in his office, violently repress his emotions until he could find an outlet, blast loud music, and go through a mental catalog of places he could go to.

...Wait, speaking of people who would never ask him to dig anything up from under that cargo ramp, where was Cade at these days, anyway? Better place a call.

[[ open! ]]