May 10
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Iris sighed as yet another interview went downhill fast. Every time she thinks there is potential they hit her with the ‘so when do I get to meet the Flash.’ She thought maybe hiring friends was the easier option. They seemed to be working out great. “This is never going to work...” she mumbled to herself as she opened to laptop to see if there was anyone else that day. A knock at the door took her out of her slum and she perked up a little. “Come in..” she said leaning back in her chair.
“The coffee taste like shit. This is feeling more like a stake out than a luncheon.”
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“What’s that phrase people always say? New Year, New Me?” He exhaled sharply through his nose, breath fogging his glass as he simultaneously rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Pathetic humans,” he muttered, nearly imperceptible before sipping his drink.
“So what say you? Are you mustering up a new you for the year?”
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Coffee || Open
“At least here the coffee’s better.”
Despite the fact their place was spotless - a combination of the fact it had yet to barely be lived in and his own rigorous once, twice and thrice, over before the party - Jason still swept his gaze around the room with a critical eye as he went to get the door. It may have just been an excuse to see people now that things were beginning to settle down, and he was sure most people were just there to take up some free booze, this was the first time Jason had properly hosted, well... anything. So sue him, he was a little nervous.
“Hey!” He greeted, entirely over-enthusiastic for anyone who knew his usual demeanour. “Welcome! And wipe your feet on the mat.” He tacked on, Alfie giving a soft ‘boof’ to back him up, having followed Jason to the door to sit expectantly in receipt of pats.
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The months of suspension had been fitful, only brief moments of clarity before his system had been flooded in response, carefully sedated through every moment and unsure when or where he was. The memories were hazy - white walls, muttered words in languages he didn’t understand, all felt like they had happened one after the other with the blink of his eyes, but there was no telling if they had been the same day, week... year. One moment he had been fighting a man who wore his face, felt the sharp, tearing strike of a blade into his arm, then the next he had felt himself carried in familiar arms. A brief moment of comfort in the fear that gripped him with every moment of consciousness.
The fear gripped him again as he startled into wakefulness, his breathing ragged and harsh as he was finally weaned from the cocktail of drugs that had kept him under. The beeping of a heart monitor sounded erratically at his side, and he grasped blindly at his chest to tear off the wires stuck there. He still felt groggy as he tried to take in his surroundings. Stark white walls, clinical - the same as before? He couldn’t remember, couldn’t risk it. If they didn’t realise he was awake,. He planted out his other hand to try and push himself up, but he grunted with confusion when he couldn’t feel the bed beneath him, trying to plant his forearm, then elbow into the mattress but his limb didn’t seem to want to move. How long had they had him, had he deteriorated so much he barely had the strength to lift himself?
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