Dr. Simon O'Neill (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
protagonized) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2016-01-07 05:57 pm
protagonized) wrote in undergrounds2016-01-07 05:57 pm
Entry tags:
Be Careful What You Wish For - [active/open]
There's a moment you know
Bloomsbury - 2 January
The email had come completely out of the blue.
Dear Simon,
My name is Robert Richardson. I was recently contacted by a woman from Catholic Charities Washington, who passed along your contact information. I understand that you have been looking for your birth family for quite some time, and I think I can help. On September 3, 1993, my daughter gave birth to a baby boy at Saint Joseph Medical Center in Tacoma, Washington. She was only fifteen and decided that adoption was the best thing for her son. The documents she signed indicate that he was adopted by John O'Neill and Cynthia Braithwaite, and that they named him Simon.
If that information is correct, I believe you are my grandson.
I will be in London on a business trip from the 8th through the 16th of this month. I understand it's short notice, but I would like to meet you and your parents.
Looking forward to your reply,
Bob Richardson
Simon emerged from his room, white and shaking, to find Matt sprawled on the futon, blasting away imaginary terrorists on Simon's Xbox.
"...They found them," he said, looking utterly dazed. "They found my biological family. My birth mum's dad just emailed me and he's going to be here in a few days. He wants to meet."
You're fucked.
Going home - 9 January (01:17)
Well, dinner had been nice.
Simon still couldn't quite believe he'd met his grandfather--his real grandfather--and that he was tax attorney with a practice in Seattle. Whatever he'd imagined for his birth family, he hadn't thought it would be that mundane. He'd gotten to see pictures of his other family members, too, and that was what had really made the whole thing real to him. He recognized parts of himself in those faces, especially his mother's. The shared the same hair color, the same eyes, the same smile.
He wished he could have gotten to meet her.
That was the most disappointing part. With tears in his eyes, his grandfather had told them about her death in an automobile accident at the age of 19. There had been ice on the road and she took a curve too quickly. Her car hit a tree and she died instantly.
They were well into their third bottle of wine at that point. Simon had started to place hints, wondering if this was the side that he'd gotten his powers from, but either he'd been far too subtle or Bob had no idea and Simon eventually gave up. It was enough for him, for now. Now that he knew who his mother was, he could start working on trying to find his father.
In fact, Bob had started to indicate that might be in the stars. He and Simon's parents seemed to get along very well, and by the time they were on bottle number four, they were begging him to stay longer in London and he was inviting them all to Washington the next summer.
It was nearly midnight when they finally parted ways, agreeing that they needed to meet again before Bob finished his business in London and returned to the States. Simon hailed a cab and started stumbling home, more than halfway drunk and completely awed by what had just happened.
And then it all went sideways.
Simon got the text message at 1:17.
It was a picture of his mum, bloodied and bruised, with a large kitchen knife held under her neck. She was crying.
Come home, it read. Your parents are dying to see you. Calling the police is a very bad idea.
Simon dropped everything and started to run.
[OOC: Simon needs your character's help! He's running towards his parents' house in Westminster. If your character is out and about this evening, he'll try to get them to come help save his parents.]
Not an inch more room
Westminster - 9 January (02:01)
"And here's the little mutt now."
Bob Richardson had completely transformed. Gone was the mild-mannered attorney from Tacoma. He seemed larger now, stronger. He sneered at Simon, at his parents who were beaten and bloody on the floor, tied up with their clothing.
"I've just been telling your mom and dad about the other things I learned about you. I can't believe you managed to hide it from them. You're a little freak, just like your fucking father. C'mon, freak, and show your mommy and daddy what you can really do."
[ooc: I'm going to be posting threads in the comments with prompts to respond to.]
To self-destruct.
Somewhere in Westminster - 9 January (05:38)
Simon shivered in the cold. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten here, just that he'd started running and hadn't stopped until he couldn't run anymore. He was still only wearing the dressing gown his dad had handed him.
Dad. Oh god.
Mum and Dad couldn't even look at him, now that they'd seen what he really was. Now that they'd seen him rip a man's throat out. He was still covered in Richardson's blood. The stench made him gag, but there wasn't anything left in his stomach to lose. He pulled the dressing gown tighter around himself and sobbed. They all hated him now. Even Matt. Of course they did. He was just another mindless killer, like all the other monsters.
He was too wrapped up in his misery and self-pity to notice the footsteps approaching him.
Bloomsbury - 2 January
The email had come completely out of the blue.
Dear Simon,
My name is Robert Richardson. I was recently contacted by a woman from Catholic Charities Washington, who passed along your contact information. I understand that you have been looking for your birth family for quite some time, and I think I can help. On September 3, 1993, my daughter gave birth to a baby boy at Saint Joseph Medical Center in Tacoma, Washington. She was only fifteen and decided that adoption was the best thing for her son. The documents she signed indicate that he was adopted by John O'Neill and Cynthia Braithwaite, and that they named him Simon.
If that information is correct, I believe you are my grandson.
I will be in London on a business trip from the 8th through the 16th of this month. I understand it's short notice, but I would like to meet you and your parents.
Looking forward to your reply,
Bob Richardson
Simon emerged from his room, white and shaking, to find Matt sprawled on the futon, blasting away imaginary terrorists on Simon's Xbox.
"...They found them," he said, looking utterly dazed. "They found my biological family. My birth mum's dad just emailed me and he's going to be here in a few days. He wants to meet."
You're fucked.
Going home - 9 January (01:17)
Well, dinner had been nice.
Simon still couldn't quite believe he'd met his grandfather--his real grandfather--and that he was tax attorney with a practice in Seattle. Whatever he'd imagined for his birth family, he hadn't thought it would be that mundane. He'd gotten to see pictures of his other family members, too, and that was what had really made the whole thing real to him. He recognized parts of himself in those faces, especially his mother's. The shared the same hair color, the same eyes, the same smile.
He wished he could have gotten to meet her.
That was the most disappointing part. With tears in his eyes, his grandfather had told them about her death in an automobile accident at the age of 19. There had been ice on the road and she took a curve too quickly. Her car hit a tree and she died instantly.
They were well into their third bottle of wine at that point. Simon had started to place hints, wondering if this was the side that he'd gotten his powers from, but either he'd been far too subtle or Bob had no idea and Simon eventually gave up. It was enough for him, for now. Now that he knew who his mother was, he could start working on trying to find his father.
In fact, Bob had started to indicate that might be in the stars. He and Simon's parents seemed to get along very well, and by the time they were on bottle number four, they were begging him to stay longer in London and he was inviting them all to Washington the next summer.
It was nearly midnight when they finally parted ways, agreeing that they needed to meet again before Bob finished his business in London and returned to the States. Simon hailed a cab and started stumbling home, more than halfway drunk and completely awed by what had just happened.
And then it all went sideways.
Simon got the text message at 1:17.
It was a picture of his mum, bloodied and bruised, with a large kitchen knife held under her neck. She was crying.
Come home, it read. Your parents are dying to see you. Calling the police is a very bad idea.
Simon dropped everything and started to run.
[OOC: Simon needs your character's help! He's running towards his parents' house in Westminster. If your character is out and about this evening, he'll try to get them to come help save his parents.]
Not an inch more room
Westminster - 9 January (02:01)
"And here's the little mutt now."
Bob Richardson had completely transformed. Gone was the mild-mannered attorney from Tacoma. He seemed larger now, stronger. He sneered at Simon, at his parents who were beaten and bloody on the floor, tied up with their clothing.
"I've just been telling your mom and dad about the other things I learned about you. I can't believe you managed to hide it from them. You're a little freak, just like your fucking father. C'mon, freak, and show your mommy and daddy what you can really do."
[ooc: I'm going to be posting threads in the comments with prompts to respond to.]
To self-destruct.
Somewhere in Westminster - 9 January (05:38)
Simon shivered in the cold. He couldn't remember how he'd gotten here, just that he'd started running and hadn't stopped until he couldn't run anymore. He was still only wearing the dressing gown his dad had handed him.
Dad. Oh god.
Mum and Dad couldn't even look at him, now that they'd seen what he really was. Now that they'd seen him rip a man's throat out. He was still covered in Richardson's blood. The stench made him gag, but there wasn't anything left in his stomach to lose. He pulled the dressing gown tighter around himself and sobbed. They all hated him now. Even Matt. Of course they did. He was just another mindless killer, like all the other monsters.
He was too wrapped up in his misery and self-pity to notice the footsteps approaching him.
no subject
In a way he didn't mind, since he was getting reacquainted with the city, in a way he'd never known. In his younger days he'd run wild and free down the main streets, but now he was getting to know back alleys, side streets and other places someone wouldn't normally go. It was always useful when he found himself recognized and needing to get away.
Not to mention that something always seemed to happen on his walks. A chance meeting, a bit of excitement. Sirius wasn't sure what to make of that but decided not to dwell too much on it. Especially since he had just seen a familiar face dart past him.
"Simon?" And without a second thought, he was after the boy. "Is something the matter?"
no subject
He was crying, but he was too intent on getting to his parents to notice a thing like that.
"Why would someone do this?"
no subject
"I wish I could tell you, since you don't seem like the type to have enemies. Where's your house?"
no subject
It was almost too far to run, but running felt good. Like a release. He felt like he was shaking apart at the seams, ready to explode with fear and anger and frustration. Putting his energy into something else...helped.
"Tonight was normal! I can't understand why someone...would want to..."
Suddenly he had a horrifying thought. What if...? No, it couldn't be it.
He'd found his family. They wouldn't do this to him after all these years.
no subject
"Look, Simon, I know this is happening fast but you've got to keep thinking straight."
The last thing he needs is for someone to make the same mistakes he did. Stupid mistakes.
"But I can get you to Notting Hill, I know a couple shortcuts."
no subject
"I...what?"
Shortcut? What shortcut?
Nevertheless, he found himself following the older shifter down an alley, shouting his home address to the other as they ran.
no subject
"So, what exactly is going on?"
no subject
Simon was so angry, full of so much pent up energy and rage, that he punched the side of a building in frustration. Why were they slowing down? They needed to get to the house, to save his parents...
"We all went out to dinner just a few hours ago. How can this have happened?"
no subject
It's hard to split his concentration between finding the best route and figuring out exactly what's happened from the few details he has. That and the dawning realization that he's somewhat out of shape (which is upsetting in its own way). Still, he picks up the pace down a largely empty street.
no subject
"I was adopted as a baby. After I realized I was a shifter, I tried to get the adoption records unsealed. I wanted to figure out who my family was. Where I got my power from. And then a few days ago a man emailed me saying he was my grandfather..." He couldn't bear to finish the sentence.
Was it even possible?
no subject
"Jesus," was all he could manage. And he thought his family situation was messed up, but now was not the time for jokes.
"Is he actually your grandfather though? And not just someone else?"
no subject
That was a thought. Had Simon been played?
He shook his head. No time to think about that now. He put on an extra burst of speed and continued to run.
no subject
"Cross the street and go through the alley. We can cut through a park on the other side, save some time."
no subject
How had this happened? Which cosmic power had he so angered to make everything in his life go so cataclysmically wrong?
In no time at all, they were in front of his parents' house. Despite the late hour, there was still a light in the front room. Dimly, he could make out the figure of a tall man in the window, his back to the street.
The bottom dropped out of Simon's stomach.
"I...don't...it's not possible."
no subject
Sirius's dislike of the situation continued to grow. However, the back to the street gives them the advantage, or at least some of one. He'll likely guess that Simon is coming, but he doesn't know they're there.
"Now's not the time to do anything stupid. There another way in besides the front door?"
no subject
"I don't understand," he says eventually, for the millionth time. "He's meant to be my grandfather, not some sort of fucking psychotic kidnapper." What had he done to deserve this? What had any of them done?
"There's a cellar door 'round the side. It's the old servants' entrance. But it's usually locked."
no subject
"There are ways around that. If we can get through there, we'll have a bit more of the element of surprise than barging through the front. Unless he's got friends?"
The grandfather, though it was weird to consider him that, seemed to know what he was doing. This seemed calculated.
no subject
Still, Simon crept along the side of the house until he found the small cellar door. He'd used it a lot as a kid, but they'd sealed it when he was twelve because animals had started coming in through it.
"It's locked and painted shut. Do you have a knife?"
no subject
He pulls it out, holding it out to Simon before reconsidering.
"Want me to do it?"
no subject
"Please."
He doesn't trust himself to do it. His hands are shaking too much.
no subject
As he works at the lock, he finds himself thinking how the tables had turned. At one point in his life, he'd be on the receiving end of that lecture, willing to rush in without much of a plan. Perhaps his friends had rubbed off on him more than he thought.
After a few moments of fiddling, the lock is discarded and he opens the door as quietly as he can.
"After you."