Origins : Snapshots In Time 60

Pevek, Russia
17, November 2023

Connor's steps pounding across the floor did nothing to divert Vincent's attention from what was in front of him. He didn't even seem particularly aware of the healer's shoes starting up the steps - nor the scramble and arguing of the two men behind him as the elder pulled the healer back down and towards the door.

"Let him be. You can't--" The old man started to say, only to be cut off abruptly as Connor promptly went wild in front of him, bellowing and kicking like a riled tiger.

"LET GO OF ME!! LET. GO. OF. ME. NOW!!"

The elder looked from Connor up to the staircase and frowned. "...you can't stop this." Was all he said, finally, his english thickly accented as the hand released Connor's sweater and let him go.

The healer didn't even bother to retort. He was off and running the second the man had let go of him, silver eyes staring uneasily up at the Marauder as he leapt for the staircase.

Vincent got a couple more steps up, eyes still locked on those seven year old bloody handprints on the wall. Just a couple of steps from the top, the teenager dropped to his knees, right hand digging into the wall, the metal hand leaving deep gouges in the wood of the staircase. His head bowed, and his eyes closed. The ghost beside him hovered uneasily, looking between the Marauder and the other two men, but not daring to try and say anything.

"Sorry," Vincent said, quietly, in Inuktitut, and set his forehead against the wood of the step above him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry...."

Connor finally reached the top of the staircase and put a hand down on the young Shaman's shoulder, looking around them hesitantly again before returning his gaze to the Marauder. At the young man's repetitive apologies to... well... empty air, possibly the ghost, the healer winced, and squeezed the kid's shoulder. "Come on," he said, quietly. "You've seen enough I think. Let's go, Vincent."

The boy just shook his head vehemently, and dug his claws in deeper by way of response. No words except for the repeating apology left him.

Connor scowled... then shot a glare over at the ghost before being forced to stand up from his crouch as the teenager moved his other hand from the wall to the step in front of him, dug his claws in, and wordlessly started up the rest of the stairs. He didn't stand, though. The boy was almost crawling his way up the last couple of steps to the second floor.

Down below, the elder sighed quietly, and the old man's shoes could be heard ascending the staircase, slowly, behind them.

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