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.
Wyatt woke up in his own bed, thankfully alone. Maybe the weekend had all been one crazy dream. Isabel couldn't have been a cranky pregnant woman. And he definitely wasn't gay and obsessed with sex. Okay, maybe the second part was true. But the images in his memories were too vivid and real to have been a dream.

He groaned and yanked his pillow over his face. It might have been more bearable if he'd stayed in his room, but no, he had to go out and socialize. And he had . . . with Peter! And with Link -- Troy! He was never going to be able to look them in the eyes again.

Then yesterday he'd run into Chris at the Perk who seemed to be himself except for thinking that his brother was evil. Wyatt winced. He hadn't really hit on his brother, had he? Killing himself was becoming more and more attractive.

He'd gone to to Caritas last night and hit on Anders. He was never going to hear the end of it. He contemplated skipping class and wondered if attempting to kill himself would be a good excuse for missing school.

[Mostly establishy, but open to taunt the big gay whitelighter.]
Christian left the common room with Peter returning later so he didn't totally joss himself, checking out the doors lining the hall. "They all have numbers, like this used to be a hotel or something," he said, trying the doors. And what do you know, door 226 opened up. How convenient.
Christian was not terribly suprised when he woke up snuggled against a warm body. He didn't quite remember who he had gone home with last night, but partying invariably led to sex and waking up in a strange bed was nothing new to him. He ran his hand along the body next to him. Maybe it was that cute new bartender. Or that hot DJ. Or. . . .

His hand froze and his eyes flew open. Neither the bartender or the DJ or anyone he would've gone home with had breasts. With some trepidation, he eased his hand a little lower. He was certain neither one of them were lacking what his fingers did not find . . . and he was positive neither of them were wtfpregnant?! He pushed away and sat up. What the hell? He couldn't have had that much to drink, could he have? This was all some horrible dream where he was boring and straight and had knocked up his girlfriend. In other words, hell.

[ooc: for great slowplay. Wyatt is Christian Markelli from Latter Days and Isabel is Alison Scott from Knocked Up.]


Wyatt Halliwell

June 2013



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