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Nicholas De Brabant

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For VH: Food [Feb. 12th, 2011|11:18 pm]

Nick wove his way through the crowd, smiling the boyish smile wise people had learned to be wary of. In his arms was a variety of things, none of which he intended to eat considering; these 'delicious' delicacies were intended for another.

The intended victim was seated at the series of booths that looked out the diner's windows, glancing around warily. Van Helsing, as the man was known, was a nervous man by nature. The modern world did nothing to help that, no matter how much Natalie had tried to help by explaining to him in minute detail about just about everything.

That was why Nick was providing experience. More specifically, Nick was providing a large plate of horrifically fried foods from what he'd heard from Schanke years ago was the 'best little diner this side of Toronto'.
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[Jun. 9th, 2007|03:02 pm]

You haven't seen him for a while, though the smile on his face says that it isn't because he's been hiding exactly.

He's laying on one of the couches, sipping from a glass of what is certainly not wine this early in the day and reading a book.
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Christmas in Toronto [Dec. 25th, 2006|08:42 pm]

"It's disturbing," LaCroix observes.

Fleur, who looked almost as worried as she should have looked pleased to see her brother and their master sitting in the same room without attempting to kill one another... elbows him in the shoulder.

How many times have I asked you not to say as such, Lucius? she asks through their blood bond in something akin to a hiss.

You'll excuse me if I can't help but noticing. He's almost catatonic. He probably can't hear me anyway.

"I can hear you just fine, LaCroix," he answers in reply to a question he wasn't supposed to have heard, "Just because I've... decided to be polite doesn't mean I've gone deaf."

"And how was I to know, my dear boy," LaCroix replies, his tone dripping amusement and sarcasm, "as you've been so very... lacking in holiday spirit tonight? Or any sort of spirit at all for days?"

Nick looks up, his eyes their normal blue, but there is something in them, a hollowness that leaves the ancient Roman general without words. Of any vampire he's ever known, his difficult son has always been the most alive, the one closest to humanity in a way he can seldom fathom. Fleur, to some extent, held such life, such light, and it was to these qualities he had originally found himself attracted to. He'd come to delight in her capacity for peace, however, as the years passed. A capacity her brother shared, but seldom indulged in. Or could, perhaps.

"Perhaps if you'd--"

Fleur cuts that line of reasoning off with a glare fit to cut his head in two and Lacroix raises his hand in surrender. He would not anger the both of them, not on this day that they both held so dear even as their mortal faith had long sinced passed.

"Brother," she starts with a warm, inviting smile. "Perhaps you'd like to join us tonight for the festivities. The children at the shelter will be putting on a play, and--"

"If it's all the same to you," Nick answers, his voice incredibly tired. He's never sounded as old as he is; despite so many things, he's always had a sense of youth to him. The 800 years of life he's live have never weighed on him. Until, it seems, now.

"If it's all the same to you," he starts again, "I would... prefer to stay home, if it's not too much trouble to have me. I'll... take a chair in the library."

Fleur nods, bowing her head. While she had adjusted quite happily to the changes in the status of women over the years, the subservience she felt towards her brother was something that had remained throughout the centuries. It was a frequent sticking point between Fleur and her lover, that she would bow to Nicholas but not to him. It was, in fact, one of the reasons why Nick tended to keep scarce. His relationship with his sister was, at all times, a strong and complicating one.

"Oh come, Nicholas, do pull yourself from whatever... emotional quagmire you've managed to step in this time. I thought you were done with this nonsense?"

Nick is silent for a moment before looking to Fleur.

"I'll be in the library."

And with that, he stands, pushing his chair in and leaving his glass. It had been barely touched, a travesty as the wine was the finest to come out of their holdings in France this year and the blood had come from one of the most brilliant playwrights to be published of late.

As he leaves, Fleur turns to LaCroix. She says nothing, but he knows what she means.

"I can't do anything to help him, my dear flower," the general admits, "He's never allowed me much of a hand in his affairs. We've managed to survive as master and child mostly through avoiding one another."

"But he's--"

LaCroix sighs.

"I am quite aware."

Fleur nods and leans against him, her eyes closing as she wraps her arms around his shoulders. He turns, however, as he feels the first drops of blood.

"Don't let him get you upset, my dear," and he halts before he continues, as the rest of his words would have done little to comfort her and much to send her into a great fit of temper. "He's not a complete fool."

She nudges him.

"Do remember how badly he treated me when I turned his little toy."

She breathes in and out, needlessly but obviously it brings her some calm.

"He did apologize."

"Months after," LaCroix points out. "And because he wanted to see you."

Fleur shrugs. Somewhat sheepishly.

There's a long silence as Fleur attempts to find peace and Lacroix... well, Lucius does what he can to try and figure out a way to get his idiot 'son' to feel better so that his immortal beloved will stop worrying herself nearly sick over him.

Sadly, nearly two thousand years of life prove completely unhelpful for the moment.

"Thank you."

And he runs a hand through her beautiful golden hair.

And he has no answer for her.
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[Jun. 19th, 2006|09:26 pm]

Nick leads him into room and closes the door. Dante settles in his basket in the corner and Nick settles on the bed, just sitting.
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[Feb. 24th, 2006|08:26 am]

Nick's still in the room... but he's fallen asleep, exhausted.

Thus the door might actually open. There's a soft womp as he actually drifts off, as his hold on the door dissolves. Does David hear it? Perhaps.
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milliways_bar: Til Death [Feb. 16th, 2006|11:06 pm]

He'd never thought he'd leave a widow.

Or friends.

He'd always figured that when he finally died, it would be a meaningless death, probably from his own hand. Perhaps humanity would have destroyed itself then. Forever was forever, after all, and after seeing Divia rise from a 2000 year old grave, after meeting Francesca in the body of another, it had seemed very much like there would be no end to him.

It had frightened him, in a strange sort of way. No relief in sight, no end. Gwyn's prophecy, the words she had brought to him from the soothsayer... he'd believed them, as much as he'd believed the reputation of the Black Buddha, as much as he believed in a thousand other things. He supposed, however, that her prophecy had been true.

He had lived a long life. And in that life, he might have found happiness, but losing it had always been even more painful. Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all sounded very good on paper but it was quite another to watch friend after friend, lover after lover, dream after dream destroyed either on the altar of time, his pride... or LaCroix's.

And now here he was, bleeding to death in an alley over five hundred dollars he'd happily handed over and a jacket he could have replaced with a single phone call because the boy had had a shakey trigger finger and it was either him or the woman he'd wandered into the alley to save.

She'd since run off for help, but he knew what was happening, what was to come.


Blessed, sweet, final Death.

Her face, pale and kind. Her hand in his, guiding him towards--

Towards wherever.

But he was ready for it. He had been, like anyone else, born ready for it.

"God have mercy on me."

A shaking hand touching forehead, the ragged hole in his chest, one shoulder, then the other...and his hand never makes it to his mouth.

800 years from when he had first entered the world, Nicholas duBrabant, man of a thousand faces and names and places, exits it.
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milliways_bar: Waking up [Feb. 16th, 2006|10:42 pm]

...and then his eyes open.



His head turns one way, the grit of the pavement digging into his scalp, then the other. His hands pat his chest a moment, feel the sticky wetness of his own lifeblood...but not the wound from which it had spilled. He lifts his hands that he might look at them, somewhat disturbed at the strangely glass-like fingernails at the end of his own hands...though how strange he finds even those. His skin is pale, even more pale than he is used to, and the veins are strangely visible even in the faint light reflected from a couple of the puddles some yards down.

Another blink, and then his hands are back against the cool skin, feeling around for that which he had found so strange for the last few weeks.

It's not there. His heartbeat is gone.

With an ease that surprises even him, he stands, dusting himself off and wiping as much of the grit and mud as possible from his hair and the back of his suit. He looks down, pulling the ragged remains of his shirt so that he may see them, boggle at them.

"What the fuck?"

I can't even die properly.

He doesn't know why this has happened, but he has a feeling, has a notion, has a vague clue that if anyone is to blame (and he's calling it blame) for this, it would be one David Talbot. And the only way to get answers from one David to head to Milliways.

It's a long walk to the loft, but it at least gives him time to think, or at least focus very very had on not thinking.

He makes it half a block before doing things to a convenience store bathroom that the 17 year old clerk on duty would remember cleaning until the day she died.
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milliways_bar: On the beat [Feb. 14th, 2006|12:16 am]


He looks down at Tracy, who's a little scuffed from being tackled to the ground but otherwise unharmed. He, on the other hand, is bleeding onto her from a wound in his shoulder which he hasn't quite felt yet. For his part, Nick blinks at her and Tracy wrestles out from under him, trying to be gentle the moment she realizes that her struggling will probably aggravate the wound.

Nick winces. That's it.

" told me yourself, all right? You're not a vampire anymore. You can't do things like that!"

She points to his shoulder, to the large redbrown spot in his shirt. He looks down at it, almost surprised at it, before his hand touches to the spot carefully. Another wince, this one accompanied by a hiss, and he begins to press his hand to the wound.

"I would rather...a ruined shirt than another...dead partner."

She growls and shakes her head, standing and helping him to stand in one move.

"Nick," she says, leaning down to look him in the face, "I've told you: I can take care of myself."

Another couple of shots against the garbage bin they were hiding behind, both of them wincing now. Snipers were always such a hassel. It was times like this that he missed the ability to fly.

No, that was a lie. He always missed the ability to fly.

"And this time you miscalculated, Trace," he tells her with a soft shake of his head as he crawls carefully up against the bin to try and pull out his gun. She immediately stuffs his hand back against the wound, which almost makes him howl but he grits his teeth and just glares at her. She looks apologetic...but then there's another few shots and she's too busy pulling out her own gun.


"Quiet, Knight."

And his other hand tugs her arm down to look at him again.

"Trace," he says very quietly, "I'm trying to help you. Just because I'm not a--" she gives him a meaningful look and he gives it right back, "--doesn't mean I'm utterly helpless. You're one window off. He's to the right, not the left."

She blinks down at him as she turns and starts to rise from behind the garbage bin to take a shot. She takes a look before there's another shot at them and she drops. She's breathing hard but so is Nick, because the bleeding isn't stopping.


He shakes his head. Later.

"Tracy? I'm telling you; one window over."

She looks at him, curious but trusting.

He nods.

She's still looking at him oddly when Natalie shows up to tend to his wound. The doctor looks horrified, even more pale than he is, but then she's all business.

They'd talk later.

Tracy feels just about the same way.
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milliways_bar: Talking to Nat [Feb. 11th, 2006|11:16 pm]

"You shouldn't have left."

He should have known she'd show up. He should have known she would come after him. Natalie was, if anything, a good and loyal friend.

"He wanted space."

She growls, as she knows where this is going.

"And that's why you left, huh? That's the only reason?"

He doesn't answer a moment, moving from the piano (where she'd found him) to the wine rack on the wall. Not to the fridge, since he's got no need to chill his beverages anymore, but to the rack where he picks out a particularly good year from his own vineyard and moves to the kitchen to get a corkscrew.


He turns to her suddenly, the instincts of centuries making the movement one of a dangerous animal more than a man.

She backs up, one hand to her breast, but her eyes are hard. She doesn't appreciate when he gets like this, unreasonable and defensive. If he was going to be defensive to anyone, it shouldn't be her.

"Nick, you can't just run away from this. You told him that--"

And he turns to her.

"I told him...that I would give him space. But, to be honest...I need some space as well. This true transition to mortality is...somewhat more disturbing than I'd thought."

She winces, since that had been the very reason he'd spoken to her twice; her ability to perhaps help him regain his mortality. That it had been so simple, that it had been granted by another, grated at her.

"I guess I can understand, yes. I mean, it's a big change, isn't it?"

"You have no idea how big."

This was another thing that she hated: when he acted like no one could understand. Even if he was right, it didn't help matters that he'd close up and mostly ignore everything she said because of it.

"Nick, I--"

"Didn't this stop being your business some time ago, Nat?" he says suddenly. Nasty. His blue eyes focus on her, his lip curling into an aristocratic sneer as he turns away from her. "When you handed me back that ring, perhaps?"

And that's a low blow, one she thought him unworthy of before he'd said it. But perhaps she was being unfair. Right now, he was as much a wounded animal as a man.

"Nick, stop, all right? Attacking me won't help things."

There's a pause as he pours the wine.

"I don't think there's anything that will help matters."

She sighs then, because there's a part of her that's even more aggravated with Alex than with Nick. She'd warned him. She'd warned him what being with Nick entailed, the sort of stresses and pressures and Alex had basically told her to get lost. She might even be a little haughty about it except that her friend was hurting.

She walks towards him then, putting her hand on his shouler. It's a mark of progress that he doesn't shrug her off.

"Nick? Nick...running away isn't going to help matters. And giving up someplace that made you happy, where you felt up your friends on top of your--"

And she can't say it. He shakes his head, though, and stands, pushing her hand aside.

"I'm not running," he says finally as he stares at the fireplace. Of all the things he'd insisted upon, he'd been most vehement about the fireplace. It wasn't the one from his past, the great wooden dragon, but it was a fireplace. "I just..."

He looks to Natalie.

"I was told once that the bar serves a purpose and that no one stayed there forever. I ignored my life here, my real life in pursuit of that place and what it held for me. I had to come back and now just seemed... the right time."

He watches her for a moment, waiting for a reaction. Natalie, for her part, shakes her head and breathes out.

She doesn't know if she believes him, but she has a feeling pushing things more won't get her anywhere.

"All right, Nick. I'll...see you next shift, all right?"

He nods to her, his eyes on the flames again.

"Good day, Nick."

"Good day, Nat."

And she leaves.
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milliways_bar: "Home" Again [Feb. 11th, 2006|08:11 am]

He'd moved out of the loft.

It hadn't taken long. He'd spent perhaps fifteen minutes there and decided that it was fifteen minutes too long before calling up his banker. They'd have to wait till morning to get him a new apartment of the size he required and the movers wouldn't come till then either, but there are always hotels and he'd stayed in one for the night instead of sleeping in that bed. He hadn't slept there either, to be honest, but it was better than it could have been; even these frail mortal senses could still sense some things and his other senses...

He'd shut them off, simply to keep from going mad.

The next morning, as his most important possessions were brought to his new apartment and his furniture was, by and large, donated to various charities, he went to the police station to argue for his job back. The fact that he'd apparently found a 'cure' in his long hiatus gained him sympathy and his record did the rest; he hadn't needed hypnosis, honestly. Thus he was back, with his partner once again, and the two of them had actually taken the day shift.

He had thought about taking the night shift again, if only to leave his days free that he might explore the world in light, see what he had missed, but his condition brought him little joy now. He founds himself wondering what had compelled him to be mortal for all those years, found himself listing his limitations and the greatest of them loomed over him dreadfully.

He could die.

He could die and...who could tell if he'd managed to make up for his many and varied sins?

He was young still, but the idea that his death might come in a short thirty, fourty, fifties years or so terrified him now. It was one thing to share those years with someone, quite another to drag himself through them alone. But, he supposed, perhaps that was a part of his penance.

Tracy was, frankly, confused at him for most of the first few shifts. There was, of course, no way to explain to her that his mortality had been returned to him by a tiny Norse god at the end of the Universe, and the two of them rarely spoke of Nick or his concerns anyway, but eventually it came out that no, he hadn't discovered any 'miracle SPF 100000' (though his bottle was still in the room at Milliways, his Christmas gift from Snow White) but that he had regained his mortality.

Any questions to why or how were immediately silenced with a glare.
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milliways_bar: Notes [Feb. 6th, 2006|10:26 pm]

Read more...Collapse )
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milliways_bar: Ask My Pups [Jan. 13th, 2006|09:07 pm]


Nick Knight
Darien Fawkes
Zeke Stone
Garion of Riva
Yamino Ryuusuke
Jack Fleming
Jack Knight
Gary Perunu
Thomas Raith
Apropos of Nothing
Dairine Callahan
Ismena of Molva
Warren Peace
Gareth of Naxen
Any of my secret characters...

Anything you'd like.
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milliways_bar: Asleep [Jan. 12th, 2006|12:50 pm]

He curls up in the covers, a little cold for the first time in centuries. Mostly, he's asleep except that he'd woken in the night and the sleep he sleeps now is somewhat shaky; he was a light sleeper as a mortal, having always to take his rest where he could on the road and spring to his saddle whenever he was called.

Many things have changed, but his body doesn't seem to have noticed. It was as it had been before he had been brought across.
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OOM: A return [Jan. 11th, 2006|07:22 pm]

He walks outside, glad of the dying light.


A whisper. The god had been attentive to him before, no reason to think that had changed...but there is no answer. A few moments waiting and then he whispers again.

It gets a little colder, but otherwise there is no change.


"No need to shout, you know."

He sits up in a tree branch, small and compact and mildly adorable. But behind the large green eyes is an intelligence and a cunning to be frightened of...or at least wary of.

"Now, what do you want that you were making a racket over it for?"

Nick looks down at the ground, considering what he is to say. He knows that David loves this creature, trusts in his friend...but he also knows the Loki of legend, the Trickster God. Knows that this little child is so much more and so much more trouble than he could imagine. But...

He thinks of Alex.

It must be done.

"You made LaCroix mortal."

The little boy laughs and jumps from the tree, walking up to him with a lazy grin.

"Yes, and it was amusing. He irritated me, so I had a little fun. I think David mentioned something about you wanting to thank me for it?"

"Yes." he nods, "but I'd also like to ask you to do the same for me."

"...well, it doesn't quite--"


Loki looks, confused, at Nick before walking around him.

"A true transformation then?"

Nick gives him a sharp nod.

"I see. Have you thought this through?"

A moments pause and then another sharp nod.

"For...for centuries."

"And you're sure?"

Another thought of Alex, of tense muscles and a pale face trying desperately not to be afraid.

"I'll need a verbal affirmative."


Loki raises an eyebrow.

"It's going to hurt."

"It can't hurt more than it does now."

Loki nods.

" you wish."

And Nicholas de Brabant, mortal, man of the 13th century, crumples into the snow as his heart begins to beat for the first time in centuries.
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otherways: The Note [Dec. 18th, 2005|08:42 am]

The NoteCollapse )
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milliways_bar: Where is Nick? [Dec. 6th, 2005|08:29 am]

Nick? To put it shortly?

Is baking.

You knew it was coming. He's been in far too grand a mood, far too joyous a place since his wedding (and since dealing with all the nonsense related for him) to miss this. Perhaps the bar is not as somber a place as it was when he'd first done this, but everyone could always use a little cheer and a little joy and a little giving.

Some of them probably didn't need the extra sugar, but such is life.

He'd made the bags for the last few days, not from coat but from fine silk cloth; it was a little extravagant, but what was wealth if you could not spread it around? Thus all that was left were the cookies and the first batch was up.

He had a lot of work ahead of him today but considering that he had a husband alternately dozing, reading, and kissing him in between it and a puppy that nuzzled him so often he would have tripped a couple of times had he not the ability to fly, it wouldn't be so bad.
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otherways: Pain [Nov. 29th, 2005|04:42 pm]


Nick shakes, his body clenching and unclenching, rolling and moving and writhing. So muchtoomuchtoofasteverythinghomenothingdeathragepainPAINeverything. He can't control it. The best he can do is balance it in different parts of his mind to keep the whole thing from collapsing.

Too much.

Too soon.
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milliways_bar: After everything... [Oct. 24th, 2005|04:29 pm]

Nick rests in his room. Despite blood from the others, and his master besides, the wound had still been to the heart and still required some time to heal. Thus he's somewhat asleep when he hears the light knocking on the door.
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milliways_bar: The Reception [Oct. 22nd, 2005|05:28 pm]

The room is decked out, not with decorations but with food. The bed has been lifted to rest against the wall in a corner, held in place by the rest of the rooms normal furniture and it has been arranged for as many people as the room could fit. Two walls are taken up with fine foods from around the world, all the finest to be found, and one small couch has a touch of bluegreen gauze to mark it as for the wedded couple.

Have at.
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Nick dreams... [Oct. 11th, 2005|05:12 pm]

The sea is gone.Collapse )

Nick wakes up calmly. The gold of his eyes overwhelms the blue for just a moment until his eyes glow blue and he blinks.

Back to normal.

He smiles and collects the invitations.

He has a wedding to get started.
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Nick dreams... [Oct. 3rd, 2005|09:16 am]

Darkness...Collapse )
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milliways_bar: Nick Dreams... [Sep. 28th, 2005|09:12 pm]

His dreams are darkness, empty and void of all. Flashes of lightning play at the edges of this landscape, but darkness reigns. And like a child, as he had done when a child, he begins to pray...

...In nomine patri, et filii, et spiriti sanctum. AmenCollapse )
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otherways: FLAILING [Jul. 30th, 2005|05:39 pm]

He searched everywhere...Collapse )
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Nick's Apartment... [Jul. 7th, 2005|03:02 pm]

Natalie and Van Helsing had done some neatening up, but there was nothing to be done for some things. The piano was still destroyed. The paintings were still ripped and thrown about. Many of Nick's most priceless items had been smashed or dented or damaged or even stolen. The glass had been collected, but his television was burnt out and missing it's screen and the leather of the couches was neatened, but nothing could fix the huge gaping rips in the leather.
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otherways: Working... [Jun. 30th, 2005|09:44 pm]

In the Batcave library which sits below his apartment on the next level down, Nick is working furiously to find some way to enable him to pull David out of that hospital. He's had the worst feelings for the last few days and while he had promised to respect David's wishes and was trying with all his might, he just knew he had to figure out a way to get his beloved out from these people who seemed determine to scramble his mind even farther.
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[Jun. 8th, 2005|07:53 pm]

He's up in his room. He's pretty much all healed up, though he still tends to twitch if something or someone moves too quickly around him and any sort of touch has the same response. He's working on it, though.
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OOC: Just a thought... [Jun. 7th, 2005|10:03 pm]

Since we're such a big group and all and we all live on teh 'puter and everything...I figured I'd post the link to

If you click on the button, you can donate 1 cup of staple food to those in need every day absolutely free to you. The food is paid for by sponsoring venders (some of whom have some neat stuff). There are a few other causes on there (breast cancer, literacy, rainforest preservation) so look around. A click could do wonders.
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[Jun. 2nd, 2005|02:09 pm]

He's up in his room, healing.

Reading a book, actually, and staring down with a mildly amused expression as he reads through an old thesis from his days as a professor.

Yes, that's right. He's staring. With red eyes. And a mildly amused expression on his face.

...this might not be the best of days for him.
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[Jun. 1st, 2005|03:13 pm]

Nick's a little better today. He's starting to get shapes and can tell light from darkness. He's sort of thought that he'd wake up and be able to see but...

Yeah. No.

The damage to his throat from the glass is somewhat healed now, so he's speaking a little instead of just making noises. He can't move much still, however, since his muscles are still healing. He does look a little more in control than before, but...don't move too fast.

He'll scream
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[May. 31st, 2005|04:58 pm]

Nick lays in his bed, curled up on his side as he clings to a pillow. His head twitches and darts at every new sound and smell as his eyesight hasn't returned yet and he speaks no words...making instead short, animal-like noises to express himself.

Maybe he's not exactly ready for guests but...a few familiar voices and scents might be nice.
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