Feb. 8th, 2009

Fork had awaken in a closet with a splitting, frying-pan induced headache. It took him awhile, but he managed to bust the door down. Unfortunately, it was daylight again and this stupid house had so many windows. He kept out of the direct sunlight and skulked, looking for Isabel. She was sleeping. In the sunroom. Bathed in sunlight. So. Not. Fair.

He amused himself for awhile by throwing things at her, but she'd woken up and TK'd stuff right back at him and promptly went back to sleep. Eventually he got bored and wandered upstairs, poking through rooms he could access. Then he discovered the attic. He had to scramble to cover up some of the windows, but it was shielded from the light enough to let him move about and explore. And there was an interesting book set on a stand in the center of the room. It seemed to quiver a bit when he tried to touch it (the Book, if it could talk, would've said it was confused by the sense of Wyatt-not-Wyatt, and if it had shoulders it would've shrugged and said, eh, how much damage could he do? If he gets out of hand I'll smack him down), but as he flipped through the pages, he began to realize that this Book could be fun to experiment with.

He was just definitely making sure his back was not to the door.

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Wyatt Halliwell

June 2013

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