Joscelin Fitzthomas (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dredefulchilde) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2017-02-18 05:47 pm
dredefulchilde) wrote in undergrounds2017-02-18 05:47 pm
Entry tags:
And we don't know where we're going and we don't know where we've been (Amnesia plot post)
23 February, Early Morning
He wakes up in the middle of a field - actually, a football pitch in Hounslow, but it seems vast and strange to him. He feels a nagging sense that he's lost something important, but he can't remember what it is. On further thought, he realizes that it's not the only thing he can't remember. He has no idea who he is, where he is, or why he's standing in the cold rain. The only thing he can remember is the feeling of an old ring hanging on a chain against his chest, under his sodden clothes. It's familiar and safe, and he knows that if he removes it something very bad will happen.
So the boy crouches in the mud and puzzles through his odd predicament.
A woman at a bus stop opposite the park is the first to see the small figure in the rain. She approaches the pale child and asks him what he's doing out so early, offering her umbrella, but he doesn't seem to understand her questions, growing increasingly agitated and confused the more she tries to help him. He's obviously lost, and the thinness of his arms and legs concerns her. She calls the police.
That night, the evening news broadcasts a picture of a boy, believed to be between nine and eleven years of age, who has been taken into care by Child Protective Services. They are looking for anyone who may recognize him since he does not seem to recognize himself. It generates a bit of buzz online, but it's hardly a leading news story with everything else going on in the world.
There's a follow-up the next morning, but this time it leads the program: a nurse in the mystery boy's hospital room was found dead late last night, drained of blood, her throat ripped out. The child is nowhere to be found.
[Specific prompts in the comments!]
He wakes up in the middle of a field - actually, a football pitch in Hounslow, but it seems vast and strange to him. He feels a nagging sense that he's lost something important, but he can't remember what it is. On further thought, he realizes that it's not the only thing he can't remember. He has no idea who he is, where he is, or why he's standing in the cold rain. The only thing he can remember is the feeling of an old ring hanging on a chain against his chest, under his sodden clothes. It's familiar and safe, and he knows that if he removes it something very bad will happen.
So the boy crouches in the mud and puzzles through his odd predicament.
A woman at a bus stop opposite the park is the first to see the small figure in the rain. She approaches the pale child and asks him what he's doing out so early, offering her umbrella, but he doesn't seem to understand her questions, growing increasingly agitated and confused the more she tries to help him. He's obviously lost, and the thinness of his arms and legs concerns her. She calls the police.
That night, the evening news broadcasts a picture of a boy, believed to be between nine and eleven years of age, who has been taken into care by Child Protective Services. They are looking for anyone who may recognize him since he does not seem to recognize himself. It generates a bit of buzz online, but it's hardly a leading news story with everything else going on in the world.
There's a follow-up the next morning, but this time it leads the program: a nurse in the mystery boy's hospital room was found dead late last night, drained of blood, her throat ripped out. The child is nowhere to be found.
[Specific prompts in the comments!]
Closed to Jean-Claude
Despite Nancy's kind words that first night, he knows he's a monster. That's why he killed that nurse. That's why he has to wear the ring all the time. He's not human.
He locks himself in the room at Cesare's hotel, confused and worried that he is a threat to others, someone who could kill again. He doesn't remember who he was before he lost his memories, and now he's not sure he wants to.
He flinches when he hears a knock at his door.
"Go away," he yells through the latch.
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"Mon ami," he says quietly. "Will you not let me in?" He has the key of course, but there's no reason that he cannot try to coax his way in without force at first instead.
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"Hello, mon ami," he replies. "It is Jean-Claude. May I come in?"
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The door closes, the chain rattles, and then it opens again. Joscelin's room is a bit of a pigsty, sheets thrown off the bed and plates of half-touched food piled in a corner. He's still wearing Nancy's too-big hoodie because it makes him feel safe. He's wide-eyed and very pale; he hasn't had any blood in days.
"And how do you know me, Jean-Claude?"
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He makes it a point to move slowly as he steps in through the door and close it gently behind himself, moving to turn to the other vampire and smile gently down at the question in turn.
"We are friends, you and I," he replies to the little vampire, the expression perhaps a little sadder than it should have been. He does not know whether Joscelin would ever truly admit to being his friend, under normal circumstances after all.
He gestures to the edge of the bed, which is a mess, but he will brave it for the sake of the boy's comfort. "May I sit?" he asks.
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"'Friends,'" he sighs, settling down next to the man. There is something very safe about Jean-Claude, something that makes him want to trust him despite his nagging sense of worry that he isn't going to like what he finds out about himself if he keeps digging.
"I seem to have a lot of grown-up friends," he points out. "Nobody my age has come to visit me yet."
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"You may not believe me when I say so," Jean-Claude remarks, "but you are older than I am myself. And of all of our kind in the city, perhaps we two are the closest there are left of our age, you and I." There are, of course, a few who are even older than they. And several who are similar in age to Jean-Claude, but younger. But they have always felt a connection, or at least so Jean-Claude had thought.
He turns aside to the other vampire. "How are you, mon ami?" he asks.
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And yet...
The boy shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Those words feel right to him. He can feel the truth behind them; he doesn't quite know how, but it's there. There are memories tied to that truth. He just can't see them yet.
Jean-Claude's question catches him a bit off-guard, so he answers it perhaps a bit more truthfully than he means to. Or maybe he just trusts him enough with the answer.
"I'm scared. I want to remember, but I'm scared that I won't be me anymore when I do."
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"What is it about yourself that you are afraid of losing, mon ami?" he asks, quietly. Wondering if, in realizing that there is something to lose, Joscelin may remember more of the person he is than he realizes he does.
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"I don't think I was a very good person. Before."
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He squeezes his hand gently, encouraging Joscelin to continue. "We all carry the capacity for both extremes within ourselves. What makes you think that, mon ami?" he asks.
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"I know that I can kill. I know that I'm good at it."
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"You know such things?" he asks, not wanting to lead him one way or the other. He wonders if he remembers more about himself than he thinks he does. Or whether it's starting to come back instead.
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Every time Joscelin looks at Jean-Claude he's assaulted by another wave of confusing images, fragments of memory that he can't quite make sense of. So he doesn't. He keeps his eyes firmly on the drawn curtains in front of him.
"I killed her and drank her blood. I've done it before. I'll probably do it again. How am I supposed to live with that?"