[He does not remember the walk home. He does not remember meeting Doctor Impossible and speaking with him, he does not remember these things because his brain is too saturated with blood. With blood that is not his own, warm and wet and pooling across the ground in a message even vocal than Cecil's usual messages were.
His laboratory coat, his face, his hands, his entire self is baptised in blood. But he does not take a path to the bathroom, to a place where he can wash the night away from him, he instead halts his footsteps in the lounge. He looks, and feels, lost.
His hands seek out the radio and fiddle with the knobs, until the silence and static fill the air around him. Until he is suddenly sat with his head resting against the speakers, letting that static fill his world as he waits. As he waits for a voice that is familiar, that is normal, to come onto the air and reassure him that everything is okay.
[action] : backdated to after Cecil's death
His laboratory coat, his face, his hands, his entire self is baptised in blood. But he does not take a path to the bathroom, to a place where he can wash the night away from him, he instead halts his footsteps in the lounge. He looks, and feels, lost.
His hands seek out the radio and fiddle with the knobs, until the silence and static fill the air around him. Until he is suddenly sat with his head resting against the speakers, letting that static fill his world as he waits. As he waits for a voice that is familiar, that is normal, to come onto the air and reassure him that everything is okay.
But it is not okay.]