Scott, Tuesday night

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

Where was he going?

That was a good question. Stopping, swaying a little on his feet, he blinked around at the street, ignoring one passer-by who cursed as he stopped directly in her path. All of the lights, he thought fitfully. Hurt his head. He moved out of the center of the sidewalk to lean up against the wall of a building and try to take stock.

There wasn't much to take. He stared down at his scraped hands, frowning as he tried to bring back to mind what had happened. But all he could remember was someone shouting, a flash of light... and pain. He reached up to touch the back of his neck tentatively, then withdrew his fingers rapidly, biting back a hiss. Felt like a burn. How did he know what a burn felt like?

This was really confusing. Frowning again, he turned his attention to his surroundings. First he'd been running, then there really hadn't seemed to be the need to do that anymore. So he'd started walking, instead, and he'd been walking for... a while, he thought.

Next question. What city was this? He peered at the street signs, but couldn't recognize the names. This was getting more than a little distressing, really...

But there was something niggling at the back of his mind, a couple of somethings, really. A dim awareness that he really shouldn't be staying in any one place for very long, and a sense that there was somewhere else he should be.

Still frowning, not quite steady on his feet, he started walking again.