[ God, it's cold. That's the first thing that gnaws through the darkness, edging him toward consciousness. He's freezing, and there's water--snowmelt?--soaking in to his clothes.
Neal groans, rolling over and confirming that, yes, he is prone in the snow. Next to a bunch of trees that are very much not from Central Park.
He sits up slowly, testing for injuries, finding nothing. There's no indication of what happened, what knocked him out, where he is--the sight of the nearby school house only confuses him further. He's fully dressed. Carefully tailored Sy Devore original suit, purple silk tie, silver tie pin, Italian leather shoes--which will not thank him for this field trip into the wilderness. His fedora is slowly being buried by snow. He rescues it, easing to his feet, still expecting to feel bruises or a headache.
Nothing. The world is quiet and white, and the snow is coming down harder than ever.
Neal dusts off the hat, making his way toward the schoolhouse. It's shelter, for starters. Better than freezing out here while he tries to figure out what's going on. He's still got his tracking anklet, but the lights are off. His phone isn't picking up any kind of signal.
He's almost to the schoolhouse when he trips over something in the snow, nearly going down. Maybe it's instinct, maybe it's curiosity, but he stops, rubbing his hands together before sinking them into the snow and uncovering-- ]
Fuck! [ He staggers and falls back on his ass, scrambling away from the body in the snow. He doesn't swear, generally--part of the persona--but sometimes... you just have to.
He stares at the young woman's frozen features, knowing he should do something. Uncover her. Move her inside. Get help. But there's one too many things going on right now for him to get motion to click. Usually Peter is there as a buffer between Neal and any bodies they might come across. Usually he's not the one who has to take responsibility for the dead.
Another thought occurs to him: Sara. He's on his feet again in an instant, looking around for others in the snow. ]
Sara? Sara! Can you hear me? It's Neal!
[ It's going to be a while before he moves on from where they landed, but he will eventually be in the bookstore, library, general store, and boarding house, or poking through the garages of various homes trying to find something strong enough to cut off his non-functional tracking anklet. ]
Day 21 - OTA - good with prose or brackets!
Neal groans, rolling over and confirming that, yes, he is prone in the snow. Next to a bunch of trees that are very much not from Central Park.
He sits up slowly, testing for injuries, finding nothing. There's no indication of what happened, what knocked him out, where he is--the sight of the nearby school house only confuses him further. He's fully dressed. Carefully tailored Sy Devore original suit, purple silk tie, silver tie pin, Italian leather shoes--which will not thank him for this field trip into the wilderness. His fedora is slowly being buried by snow. He rescues it, easing to his feet, still expecting to feel bruises or a headache.
Nothing. The world is quiet and white, and the snow is coming down harder than ever.
Neal dusts off the hat, making his way toward the schoolhouse. It's shelter, for starters. Better than freezing out here while he tries to figure out what's going on. He's still got his tracking anklet, but the lights are off. His phone isn't picking up any kind of signal.
He's almost to the schoolhouse when he trips over something in the snow, nearly going down. Maybe it's instinct, maybe it's curiosity, but he stops, rubbing his hands together before sinking them into the snow and uncovering-- ]
Fuck! [ He staggers and falls back on his ass, scrambling away from the body in the snow. He doesn't swear, generally--part of the persona--but sometimes... you just have to.
He stares at the young woman's frozen features, knowing he should do something. Uncover her. Move her inside. Get help. But there's one too many things going on right now for him to get motion to click. Usually Peter is there as a buffer between Neal and any bodies they might come across. Usually he's not the one who has to take responsibility for the dead.
Another thought occurs to him: Sara. He's on his feet again in an instant, looking around for others in the snow. ]
Sara? Sara! Can you hear me? It's Neal!
[ It's going to be a while before he moves on from where they landed, but he will eventually be in the bookstore, library, general store, and boarding house, or poking through the garages of various homes trying to find something strong enough to cut off his non-functional tracking anklet. ]