It was a pretty sad day when you started getting used to the jarring gaps in your memory.
Brock couldn't remember anything after leaving the bus. Just that and then a big fat nothing, followed by suddenly waking up in "his" bed - he still refused to seriously consider the fact that it might be his for a while. Acting like he possessed it just made it seem all the more permanent and hell if he was going to be stuck here if he could help it. But stubbornness or not, that didn't stop him from slowly getting used to how he would simply jolt awake every morning, his last memory of the night before so damn clear and yet he had the impression of hours lost even then.
But at least they were recovering.
It'd been a few days after their failed attempt to kill Kasady and Brock was on the optimistic side now. For starters, he wasn't starving or in too much pain. And while he still hadn't heard his symbiote's "voice" (there wasn't really a better word to describe how it communicated to him with impressions), he could definitely feel it puttering about the house today, doing its thing. Tidying up. It was pretty downright invasive considering he could actually feel his Other putting the finishing touches on their healing body, but he drew comfort from it, like welcoming back an old friend. If there was a constant he needed more than anything, it was knowing he wasn't alone, knowing that he was still a Host. Basically another day as a walking meat suit, but he figured he could live with that.
The chapel was pretty much empty as the blond was ushered inside. He never was sure what he should pray for. Brock knew "sinner" was probably an understatement. Taking a seat at one of the pews, he clasped his hands together in his lap, taking a deep breath. Sinner or not, he just somehow felt he should pray, although he didn't know what he should say: God, I tried to kill someone but I fucked it up - forgive me? Or hey, sorry about maiming that cripple, but the bastard had it coming? Then there was the whole laundry list of past murders, cannibalism, stalking, and he was pretty sure he'd skipped the bill on his last pre-Landels meal. Praying was probably moot at this point.
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Brock couldn't remember anything after leaving the bus. Just that and then a big fat nothing, followed by suddenly waking up in "his" bed - he still refused to seriously consider the fact that it might be his for a while. Acting like he possessed it just made it seem all the more permanent and hell if he was going to be stuck here if he could help it. But stubbornness or not, that didn't stop him from slowly getting used to how he would simply jolt awake every morning, his last memory of the night before so damn clear and yet he had the impression of hours lost even then.
But at least they were recovering.
It'd been a few days after their failed attempt to kill Kasady and Brock was on the optimistic side now. For starters, he wasn't starving or in too much pain. And while he still hadn't heard his symbiote's "voice" (there wasn't really a better word to describe how it communicated to him with impressions), he could definitely feel it puttering about the house today, doing its thing. Tidying up. It was pretty downright invasive considering he could actually feel his Other putting the finishing touches on their healing body, but he drew comfort from it, like welcoming back an old friend. If there was a constant he needed more than anything, it was knowing he wasn't alone, knowing that he was still a Host. Basically another day as a walking meat suit, but he figured he could live with that.
The chapel was pretty much empty as the blond was ushered inside. He never was sure what he should pray for. Brock knew "sinner" was probably an understatement. Taking a seat at one of the pews, he clasped his hands together in his lap, taking a deep breath. Sinner or not, he just somehow felt he should pray, although he didn't know what he should say: God, I tried to kill someone but I fucked it up - forgive me? Or hey, sorry about maiming that cripple, but the bastard had it coming? Then there was the whole laundry list of past murders, cannibalism, stalking, and he was pretty sure he'd skipped the bill on his last pre-Landels meal. Praying was probably moot at this point.