- Invitation Status
- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per week
- Writing Levels
- Beginner
- Elementary
- Intermediate
- Adept
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Genres
- fantasy, scifi, horror, magical, drama
John guessed that there was a gun inside of that box, and hoped there was. He allowed the contents to take the Uncertainty Principle, of being both a gun and not a gun at the same time, by resisting the urge to peek inside the wooden box with the broken lock. It didn't matter the unfair nature that Nightwatch was now bound to a wheelchair when it came to using a gun, and wondered what kind of firepower a gunshop would allow two old men. He knew, however, that pretty much everything relied on Sacrifice alone. Whatever Demon that Sacrifice was bound to probably wouldn't have allowed its servant to have any ailment, and magic would not decay with age.
The hospital staff went about their business as normal, actively ignoring the fact that a patient was being wheeled in a section he wasn't supposed to be in, by a complete stranger. John was more assured that Mr. Baker was correct in his plan assessment; Scott could never be a compliant prisoner, and it worked completely to his advantage. Perhaps they really did despise Mr. Baker on a personal level, or perhaps they simply could not be assed anymore to intervene in whatever Mr. Baker was involved in, always being more trouble than it was worth. It was definitely a less dramatic rescue than the prison camp. John simply smiled and nodded at the staff, saying his unanswered 'how do you dos?', totally playing off the fact that, strictly speaking, he was abducting Scott Baker. If they knew that was his plan all along, they might have even cheered him on and helped Scott through the door, and get him out of their lives forever. The only better alternative to the staff would be a planned murder. The unanswered guest form was in John Wakefield's pocket, easily forgotten.
Having exited the same alternate doors that Mr. Wakefield stumbled through when he first arrived at the hospital, he made his way to his 1967 Mercury Cougar. Independence Day was starting to blossom despite the terrible tragedies that enveloped it; the warm sun's rays and the cool, crisp air of a closing noonday draft made the weather 'perfect', a quantifier rarely used by Wakefield. He gladly forgot the route from Mr. Baker's prison room to the exit, wheeling him carefully next to the passenger side of the car. Opening the door, Mr. Wakefield offered the most dignity he could to Mr. Baker when it came to helping him into the cushy seat which John imagined felt a 'million bajillion' times better than the hospital wheelchair. There was a handle at the top of the door opening for Scott to hoist himself up with, and while he did so, John used his arms and whatever gravity field he had left to muster to make the physical task a bit easier for the both of them. After that was done, John got to folding the wheelchair up efficiently enough; it was a trivially simple machine, after all, and learned quickly which component did what, before shoving it in one side of the back seat.
Finally, John got into the driver's seat and sat there, looking blankly ahead, as though in quiet, befuddled contemplation. It looked as though his mind simply could not wrap its mind around the shock at how flippantly easy the operation had been, but in actuality, he was already thinking about that compounded with the next step that had to be done: getting to Sacrifice's house. Where was it, again? He tried drawing a map in his mind by tracing lines in the air with his index finger and moving his mouth to form soundless words. It might have seemed like he was doing much more complex calculations that a non-egghead wouldn't understand, but really all he was trying to do was conjure a street name through basic divination. He took a deep breath and nodded. Relative location, that was the ticket for sure! Wasting no more time, John shifted it into high gear and started slowly making his way out of the parking lot. There was the threshold between the lot and the outside world. As soon as they crossed the breach, Mr. Wakefield sped down the highway at top speed. He had the distinct feeling that he would have to save Nuclear Overdrive for when it truly was needed.
The hospital staff went about their business as normal, actively ignoring the fact that a patient was being wheeled in a section he wasn't supposed to be in, by a complete stranger. John was more assured that Mr. Baker was correct in his plan assessment; Scott could never be a compliant prisoner, and it worked completely to his advantage. Perhaps they really did despise Mr. Baker on a personal level, or perhaps they simply could not be assed anymore to intervene in whatever Mr. Baker was involved in, always being more trouble than it was worth. It was definitely a less dramatic rescue than the prison camp. John simply smiled and nodded at the staff, saying his unanswered 'how do you dos?', totally playing off the fact that, strictly speaking, he was abducting Scott Baker. If they knew that was his plan all along, they might have even cheered him on and helped Scott through the door, and get him out of their lives forever. The only better alternative to the staff would be a planned murder. The unanswered guest form was in John Wakefield's pocket, easily forgotten.
Having exited the same alternate doors that Mr. Wakefield stumbled through when he first arrived at the hospital, he made his way to his 1967 Mercury Cougar. Independence Day was starting to blossom despite the terrible tragedies that enveloped it; the warm sun's rays and the cool, crisp air of a closing noonday draft made the weather 'perfect', a quantifier rarely used by Wakefield. He gladly forgot the route from Mr. Baker's prison room to the exit, wheeling him carefully next to the passenger side of the car. Opening the door, Mr. Wakefield offered the most dignity he could to Mr. Baker when it came to helping him into the cushy seat which John imagined felt a 'million bajillion' times better than the hospital wheelchair. There was a handle at the top of the door opening for Scott to hoist himself up with, and while he did so, John used his arms and whatever gravity field he had left to muster to make the physical task a bit easier for the both of them. After that was done, John got to folding the wheelchair up efficiently enough; it was a trivially simple machine, after all, and learned quickly which component did what, before shoving it in one side of the back seat.
Finally, John got into the driver's seat and sat there, looking blankly ahead, as though in quiet, befuddled contemplation. It looked as though his mind simply could not wrap its mind around the shock at how flippantly easy the operation had been, but in actuality, he was already thinking about that compounded with the next step that had to be done: getting to Sacrifice's house. Where was it, again? He tried drawing a map in his mind by tracing lines in the air with his index finger and moving his mouth to form soundless words. It might have seemed like he was doing much more complex calculations that a non-egghead wouldn't understand, but really all he was trying to do was conjure a street name through basic divination. He took a deep breath and nodded. Relative location, that was the ticket for sure! Wasting no more time, John shifted it into high gear and started slowly making his way out of the parking lot. There was the threshold between the lot and the outside world. As soon as they crossed the breach, Mr. Wakefield sped down the highway at top speed. He had the distinct feeling that he would have to save Nuclear Overdrive for when it truly was needed.