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.
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"I've always been American, Matt," he pointed out. "I've had dual citizenship since I was born."
He shrugged. "Of course I'm going to respond. I've been looking for my birth family since I was fourteen. Though I wish I knew why my birth mother didn't contact me directly..."
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Matt smiled brightly. "Hey, this is a cause for celebration! I think we have some vodka around here."
He stood up from the couch and crossed the small flat to the kitchen. He grabbed two glasses from the cabinet and grabbed a bottle from the counter. He poured two generous shots and brought them over to the couch.
"Cheers," Matt said, handing one glass to Simon.
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"Maybe you're right," he mused, going back to the earlier topic of his mother. "The email says she was fifteen. Maybe she's embarrassed, or she feels guilty for giving me up. At any rate, it was her dad that emailed me. I have a grandfather."
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He sat next to Simon on the couch and leaned over, looking at the email again. "Maybe you can get some sympathy gifts out of this," he said. "Think of all the birthdays and Christmases that they've missed. I'm not saying you should ask for it, but, it'd be pretty sweet if they offered to get you an XBox 360 or, even better, a PS4."
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He took a long pull of the drink, enjoying the way the cheap whiskey burned on the way down. "I've already replied, actually. Sent him my phone number to see if we can arrange a meeting. If he'd contacted my parents first I'm sure they would have wanted to go through their solicitor to be 'safe,'"--at this he put down his glass to make air quotes--"but I've waited too long for that."
He wouldn't realize until much later how wrong he was.
"Maybe. Sounds like he's a lawyer of some variety, so he might have the money for it."
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Matt drained his glass and placed it on the table. "Then you've hit the jackpot. Isn't that what every adopted kid hopes for? It's like that movie Annie. Or something - I only remember parts of that show. Something about a red head and a guy named Daddy Warbucks. It... wasn't the sort of movie I was expecting given that description."
Matt shrugged his shoulders, realizing he was babbling completely off topic. "I guess all you have to do now is wait."
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"I think I saw the play when it was on the West End. I think I was eight." And that was...honestly the extent of his knowledge of musical theater.
"I don't think we have to wait long. He's here in a few days."
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Matt clapped Simon on the shoulder. "Do you need me to do anything for you? I can straighten up the flat before he arrives."
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Matt shrugged his shoulders, reaching for the bottle. "But that's just my opinion. Hey, if your nervous, I wouldn't mind coming along. Make sure he's not some weird online serial killer."
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Simon grabbed for the bottle, but Matt took it before he had the chance. So he pointed to his empty glass and hoped his flatmate took the hint. "Maybe on the second meeting, if he really is who he says he is. I'd like the first one to be a bit more family oriented. No offense meant."
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"I'm happy for you," Matt said after taking a sip from his drink. "It's a good start to the new year."
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"You pay the rent on time, at least. That's a big step up from the other guy who applied on the Craigslist posting. He wanted to pay rent in 'sexual favors.' And I think he might've been a furry."
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