[It was a good trip. Cassel and Chris seemed mostly okay, and the time spent with Daneca was great. He really had missed her, and getting time to see where she lives was just...great.
He's only been back a few minuets, really, with his backpack full of dirty clothes half opened on the floor. He's laying back, staring at the ceiling wistfully and thinking back on the days he was gone, when he smells it.
It's sharp, and tangy, and at once it makes the predator in him want to hunt - but it reminds the real him that it's wrong, wrong, so wrong, that he knows that smell, that he's smelled that way too often before--
He's heading for the door before he even hears the knock, the sigh, and where everything sped up from the moment he smelled blood, it slows down the moment he opens his door.
There's blood on the wood, not quite a hand print. A fist, maybe. He smells - death, and he sees Allison, and it feels like he stares for an eternity even though it's barely a second. This isn't real. This is a dream. You have to wake up, he thinks.
Blood rushing in his ears, Scott drops immediately to pick her up, carrying her back inside to set her on his bed. He has bandages - he can stop the bleeding - he can - he--
He sees the wound, and he knows that wound, and his throat is closing on him.]
Allison, no.
[He doesn't go for the bandages. He hovers, then let's his mom's instincts kick in when his grief threatens to overwhelm. He grabs a shirt from the floor and presses it over her stomach, holding it down as hard as he can.]
You didn't - you stayed too long, you were supposed to--
[Spam]
He's only been back a few minuets, really, with his backpack full of dirty clothes half opened on the floor. He's laying back, staring at the ceiling wistfully and thinking back on the days he was gone, when he smells it.
It's sharp, and tangy, and at once it makes the predator in him want to hunt - but it reminds the real him that it's wrong, wrong, so wrong, that he knows that smell, that he's smelled that way too often before--
He's heading for the door before he even hears the knock, the sigh, and where everything sped up from the moment he smelled blood, it slows down the moment he opens his door.
There's blood on the wood, not quite a hand print. A fist, maybe. He smells - death, and he sees Allison, and it feels like he stares for an eternity even though it's barely a second. This isn't real. This is a dream. You have to wake up, he thinks.
Blood rushing in his ears, Scott drops immediately to pick her up, carrying her back inside to set her on his bed. He has bandages - he can stop the bleeding - he can - he--
He sees the wound, and he knows that wound, and his throat is closing on him.]
Allison, no.
[He doesn't go for the bandages. He hovers, then let's his mom's instincts kick in when his grief threatens to overwhelm. He grabs a shirt from the floor and presses it over her stomach, holding it down as hard as he can.]
You didn't - you stayed too long, you were supposed to--
[It all happened so fast.]