[Afraid as he is to be alone, Carlisle reminds himself that this is only temporary, a brief parting in this strange and terrifying situation so that he can get his energies under control without bringing further potential harm to someone whose safety is, for him, a genuine concern. He's the one who insisted on this; he just needs a minute to collect himself. Qubit isn't far, but he's safer, surely. That's one less weight on Carlisle's shoulders -- he only has so many more to deal with, burdens that keep him mired in his own doubts and fears.
Why Qubit actually trusted him to handle this on his own is a mystery. After all, Carlisle doesn't even trust himself fully. How can he when he's so volatile, when his energies are a blight upon the living? He came to Qubit for help, so why would he possibly believe sending Qubit away was the right call?
The skeleton that had been by Qubit's side follows the other man for a step or two before coming to a halt, turning back to look at its master as though he has all the answers -- any answers, any reason for its existence. The glow of its eyes is dim compared to Carlisle's own, but there's still a sense of sadness there, of melancholy it cannot possibly understand. The animated undead are indeed an extension of his own will, and so it is his duty to deal with them, just as it always has been. That is what's familiar.
Carlisle takes a deep breath in. He doesn't need to breathe anymore, but the act alone makes him feel human, still alive as he centers himself in his old way. He murmurs another okay to himself as he steps out of his current patch of corroded floor and withered carpet, pulling the energy from the skeleton once he's close enough. He does the same for the other bones around the room, stiffly making a path to each of them, one by one, all the while wondering just why they are there. Who collects a bunch of children's skeletons and puts them in a playroom? Is this real, or is it just an elaborate, shared delusion caused by the Redshift?
And why was it Qubit reacted so poorly to them? He brushed off the grasp of the skeleton with ease, its grip no stronger than it had been when the child was alive, certainly not without the muscles and ligaments attached. He'd been more collected when dealing with the adult skeletons in the Whole Foods, even when they'd been charging at him, enraged by Carlisle's own fury. Is it because these were once children? What is it about these particular skeletons that has him so rattled?
... Okay, rattled is not the most appropriate way to think about this when considering skeletons, but his point still stands.
Carlisle draws in another breath, returning to the middle of the room. It's still now, quiet: the bones have stopped trembling with the beginnings of animation, the pounding in his head has slowed to a low, mild thrum. He's fine. He's here... and so is Qubit. Qubit is real, and he should let him know things are fine now -- as fine as they can be, in any case. Carlisle makes his way to the door to step into the corridor beyond, wanting to distance himself from this room as quickly as possible. Maybe elsewhere, his temperament will be easier to manage. Surely there aren't other surprises that await them.
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Why Qubit actually trusted him to handle this on his own is a mystery. After all, Carlisle doesn't even trust himself fully. How can he when he's so volatile, when his energies are a blight upon the living? He came to Qubit for help, so why would he possibly believe sending Qubit away was the right call?
The skeleton that had been by Qubit's side follows the other man for a step or two before coming to a halt, turning back to look at its master as though he has all the answers -- any answers, any reason for its existence. The glow of its eyes is dim compared to Carlisle's own, but there's still a sense of sadness there, of melancholy it cannot possibly understand. The animated undead are indeed an extension of his own will, and so it is his duty to deal with them, just as it always has been. That is what's familiar.
Carlisle takes a deep breath in. He doesn't need to breathe anymore, but the act alone makes him feel human, still alive as he centers himself in his old way. He murmurs another okay to himself as he steps out of his current patch of corroded floor and withered carpet, pulling the energy from the skeleton once he's close enough. He does the same for the other bones around the room, stiffly making a path to each of them, one by one, all the while wondering just why they are there. Who collects a bunch of children's skeletons and puts them in a playroom? Is this real, or is it just an elaborate, shared delusion caused by the Redshift?
And why was it Qubit reacted so poorly to them? He brushed off the grasp of the skeleton with ease, its grip no stronger than it had been when the child was alive, certainly not without the muscles and ligaments attached. He'd been more collected when dealing with the adult skeletons in the Whole Foods, even when they'd been charging at him, enraged by Carlisle's own fury. Is it because these were once children? What is it about these particular skeletons that has him so rattled?
... Okay, rattled is not the most appropriate way to think about this when considering skeletons, but his point still stands.
Carlisle draws in another breath, returning to the middle of the room. It's still now, quiet: the bones have stopped trembling with the beginnings of animation, the pounding in his head has slowed to a low, mild thrum. He's fine. He's here... and so is Qubit. Qubit is real, and he should let him know things are fine now -- as fine as they can be, in any case. Carlisle makes his way to the door to step into the corridor beyond, wanting to distance himself from this room as quickly as possible. Maybe elsewhere, his temperament will be easier to manage. Surely there aren't other surprises that await them.
... Surely.]