Day 29: Music Room

[mylackofeffort.livejournal.com]

Quatre was thankful that his "name" wasn't called to be visited, but there was always the next shift. He knew he probably should have hunted down his comrades to see if they were safe this shift as well and if they could think of a plan to escape. It was strange being in captivity, Quatre had never been caught by OZ and when one of the remaining White Fang factions had attempted to assassinate him, the action had resulted in the deaths of many innocent politicians and bureaucrats; people who had families and who had honestly been hoping to do the best with the peace that Quatre and so many like him had tried so hard to obtain.

There were a few things that could completely take Quatre's mind off even the most horrible of facts, one of them was music. So when the nurse mentioned that he could go to the 'Music Room' he couldn't help but want to at least look in the room. There was an assortment of instruments for him to choose from. There were no classical pieces to speak of, but Quatre considered the fact that an attentive enough patient could use a number of the pieces of a piano to kill someone. That and you couldn't really use headphones on a real flute.

He ran his fingers over the electric keyboard before sitting down to it.

He had once told a good friend, Noin, that he played what he felt and at the moment his anxiousness was overwhelming. If he played at least a little bit of it, it might release from him, might take some of the pressure from his heart.

That, and it would be reassuring to be doing something he loved to do. He placed the headphones on his ears, trying not to allow his emotions to affect any of the patients that might enter the room after him, and started to play.

The sound was dulled, probably for safety reasons, but that was probably for the best. If anyone spoke to him he would be able to hear, even if he let the music that his fingers played with electrical sound take him away from Landel's prison walls.

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[blacksustenance.livejournal.com]

That was right, Parker hadn't exactly been there for their bonding. Or in much of a state to be aware of it. Brock briefly debated just going "screw you" into Parker's face just because. But then he thought about it; it wasn't like there was anything to be hide, and the only thing he could get out of denying him the whole story was just a petty satisfaction.

"I was right there," Brock said after a moment, his voice quiet. For something that was a big part of his new life, he sounded almost detached from it. Looking back on it now, it was like watching it happen to someone else, someone who was weak and disgustingly human. "I was there in the church, and I saw everything."

He'd seen what a good population of New York had been trying to figure out - Spider-man's real, civilian identity. The face and name that could probably have sold for millions and given him an early retirement. It had all clicked into place, everything, and he'd been stunned by it as he watched Parker wrestle with something black and alive by the tolling bell. The whole Peter-Parker-is-Spider-man thing had distracted him so much that he hadn't really paid much attention to the symbiote at the time - until it started dripping down from Parker onto him. And that had been when the cold - colder than anything he'd ever felt before - began to set in.

Brock shrugged. "We bonded, pretty much right after you rejected it."

He'd prayed for God to kill Parker, but he'd got the next best thing, which, he figured, was good enough. Maybe it was God's way of saying do your own damn dirty work by giving him the tools, putting him on an equal playing field. He didn't know. All he knew was he wasn't sure if he even wanted to kill Parker these days. Hurt him, sure, he was always up for that, but killing? No, that was too permanent, and his Other wouldn't allow that anyway.

[a-spider-can.livejournal.com]

"You were there?" Peter couldn't censor himself in time to stop from blurting it out. That had been one of his harder moments... Having to pull and tear at the blackness only for it to slap back into place, until he figured out its weakness and then the pain just got worse. Eddie had been there? It felt strangely violating to know that.

Forgetting that, what were the chances of that happening? For Eddie to end up in the same church at the right time? It was almost like it had been planned somehow, but Peter didn't know what to make of that. Maybe it had been the symbiote's doing somehow.

The way Eddie spoke about it still disturbed him. "We bonded" -- he was acknowledging the symbiote as its own entity. Maybe it was, but didn't Eddie realize how screwed in the head he sounded? Then again, all of the baddies he'd gone up against usually ended up with some sort of personality disorder, and he wasn't sure why it surprised him anymore.

Considering he had known all of them before the crazy had set in, though... That was what made it hard. He realized he probably needed to say something. "Guess that makes sense," he managed lamely.