The Door To The World

Deftly working each stitch into a secured position to allow Wesley’s skin to mend itself properly and efficiently, Veronica gives the man a smile to let her know she’s still listening. As focused as she is as she pierces and secures the skin at his brow, she would rather not ruin a thing by speaking. Finally the sutures are finished—only three necessary, and she cleans the wound over one more time before tugging off her gloves and disposing of the needle in the hazard waste bin at the wall.

Finally able to answer him, Veronica says. “All done with your stitches. As for me? I’m originally from Danby but I came here after meeting Joey Masters. We’ve been friends for over a year and she recently had asked me to come here to work in her clinic.”

Veronica waves her hand about the room to indicate the place they’re currently in as she continues. “It’s not often someone in my field finds a secure job so I couldn’t think of any reason to decline.”

She smiles and gives a shrug. “It’s not the city, which is what I’m familiar with, but I like the change. Never realised just how nice the quiet could be until I got a full dose of it here.” She gives a laugh before adding, “But what about yourself? That accent is too unique for it to be one you got from here.”

He rose his eyebrows playfully, ignoring the tightness of his freshly stitched skin. “Ah’m originally from New Orleans bu’really ah’ve been just about everywhere,” Wes admitted easily, looking towards the shorter woman. “T’be honest, I don’t really live here in Faulkner – ah tend to pop in an’ out whenever.” The teleporter hoped that wouldn’t put his new friend off. It seemed as if a clinic such as wouldn’t really be open to outsiders – a lot of places around the world were very selective in the treatment of tourists, not that Wesley considered himself a tourist anywhere anymore.  

“There are too many places in the world to call one home an’ settle down,” he added with an eager smile.

Of course, teleporting gone awry sounds like quite a mess and Wesley’s current state is evidence enough that such an ability comes at a price when it decides to malfunction. Much like Veronica’s own had. At least no one died here, she thinks to herself. But that’s the past and she steps forward to begin cleaning his head wound as she speaks.

“That sounds sufficiently awkward,” Veronica says. “For everyone, but especially you. I really don’t think that the man had any right to get violent. Hitting you really doesn’t help you get to the door any quicker, if he wanted you to leave.”

Stepping back with a small grin, she adds, “I never saw the logic in that, honestly. But I guess his embarrassment needed a better expression rather than just hiding under the covers.”

The thought of walking—or teleporting—in on a straight couple having sex, wedding night or otherwise, makes Veronica grimace. Though she’d like to consider herself accepting of everyone and their lives, straight sex just never made much sense to her. Even after experiencing it for herself, she felt it wasn’t very intimate and verged on bestial in some ways. She feels for Wesley, having to witness that, even for the brief moments before the couple realized he was there.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” she finishes. “Abilities acting up never ends well, in my opinion.”

Picking up the needle to begin suturing, Veronica considers the fact that she’d never heard or was taught of the full moon’s effects on supernaturals other than weres. Even in the months she’d been slowly regaining her powers, she’d never felt anything strange. Or perhaps her power was so weak that any shifts or oddities never registered that way for her. But it’s obvious she isn’t the only one dealing with strange full moon happenings.

Keeping his face relaxed, he braced for the searing pain in already inflamed flesh while continuing, “I don’t believe in violence.” After the initial piercing, Wesley began to realize that the doctor was actually quite talented – barely feeling any extra discomfort than he was already in. He smirked slightly at his rather vague comment. It wasn’t often that he had a willing party to his ramblings but Veronica herself seemed to be in the same perspective. “I’ve never thrown a punch in my life and I’m hoping to never change that,” he through back to the silent vow he made for his missing sister; all his bargaining and sacrificing hadn’t brought him any closer to finding the now eighteen year old woman. “Bein’ able to teleport has always made that’a  easy oath – I guess ah got a good ass kicking last night doe,” the taller man chuckled to himself, struggling to refrain from shaking his head in animation.

Of course, teleporting gone awry sounds like quite a mess and Wesley’s current state is evidence enough that such an ability comes at a price when it decides to malfunction. Much like Veronica’s own had. At least no one died here, she thinks to herself. But that’s the past and she steps forward to begin cleaning his head wound as she speaks.

“That sounds sufficiently awkward,” Veronica says. “For everyone, but especially you. I really don’t think that the man had any right to get violent. Hitting you really doesn’t help you get to the door any quicker, if he wanted you to leave.”

Stepping back with a small grin, she adds, “I never saw the logic in that, honestly. But I guess his embarrassment needed a better expression rather than just hiding under the covers.”

The thought of walking—or teleporting—in on a straight couple having sex, wedding night or otherwise, makes Veronica grimace. Though she’d like to consider herself accepting of everyone and their lives, straight sex just never made much sense to her. Even after experiencing it for herself, she felt it wasn’t very intimate and verged on bestial in some ways. She feels for Wesley, having to witness that, even for the brief moments before the couple realized he was there.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” she finishes. “Abilities acting up never ends well, in my opinion.”

Picking up the needle to begin suturing, Veronica considers the fact that she’d never heard or was taught of the full moon’s effects on supernaturals other than weres. Even in the months she’d been slowly regaining her powers, she’d never felt anything strange. Or perhaps her power was so weak that any shifts or oddities never registered that way for her. But it’s obvious she isn’t the only one dealing with strange full moon happenings.

Keeping his face relaxed, he braced for the searing pain in already inflamed flesh while continuing, “I don’t believe in violence.” After the initial piercing, Wesley began to realize that the doctor was actually quite talented – barely feeling any extra discomfort than he was already in. He smirked slightly at his rather vague comment. It wasn’t often that he had a willing party to his ramblings but Veronica herself seemed to be in the same perspective. “I’ve never thrown a punch in my life and I’m hoping to never change that,” he thought back to the silent vow he made for his missing sister; all his bargaining and sacrificing hadn’t brought him any closer to finding the now eighteen year old woman. “Bein’ able to teleport has always made that’a  easy oath – I guess ah got a good ass kicking last night doe,” the taller man chuckled to himself, struggling to refrain from shaking his head in animation.

But then again, Wesley had mentioned children. Dead children, at that, because of a man that they were trying to frame. Is this right? He asks himself, still standing dumbly by the door as Wesley begins to clean up the small mess in the hotel room. Will I be punished for covering up a murder by framing a man? Well, it wasn’t technically framing a man, he corrects himself, considering the kidnapping and killing had already been done.

“I — well, this is wacko,” he laughs a little, not at the scene before him but the situation he’s gotten himself into by moving to this town. The word choice is Viola’s, but Solomon had grown to use it in regular vocabulary since before she had died. And Wesley’s own Southern accent ends up giving Solomon a chance to let his own twang out for a spin. “But…” Solomon doesn’t feel the need to explain himself and gets right to work, picking up things that belonged to the man and tossing them just as Wesley had before. If he was going to do this, he needed to do it quickly as Wesley had asked him to.

Bending down to pull the comforter into a makeshift duffle bag, he popped out the room and into the dead man’s car parked outside the hotel to place the bag into the back seat before returning to Solomon as if he hadn’t left in the first place. “So, the plan… Ah I take the car to the address and then return to take you and him to the house,” Wesley explained, taking a couple deep breaths of the dank motel room scent. It was always easier when heavy machinery wasn’t involved but if they left the car – it would draw up questions with the motel manager. As it was he needed to figure out if there was any surveillance or any other evidence of this man being here rather than a few hundred miles away. It was odd how fast his mind was going with the various things that needed to be completed and it made him feel slightly ill that he was knowledgeable enough to be calm about these topics.

“I’m quite fluent in food speak,” he ends up adding to the conversation, that being the only thing he could make out of his friend’s incessant twang and terms of “endearment.” Aiden snorts a little while his mouth is full of pie and chews on happily while Wesley talks more. The werewolf probably won’t be able to contribute much because the shovels of pie just keep on coming.

The look in Wesley’s eyes brings Aiden’s chewing down to a slower rate. Sadness tugs at his heartstrings while one of his best friends speaks. The werewolf can’t even look his teleporting friend in the eye while he talks of losing his only family in the entire world. Aiden knows how that feels, so it only worries him all the more as Wesley changes the subject.

How often was it that someone turned up after being missing for ten years? Wesley knew the odds were against him in every which way. The police declared his sister dead days after the fire, even with the absence of her body. The police give up after months when a person is missing, and they are given up on after seven years. Now at nine years of Emma being gone, Wes was beginning to doubt his efforts.

“Glad you found it alright. Welcome to Masters Memorial Clinic. Approaching its grand opening soon. I just can’t deny anyone assistance even if we aren’t technically open yet.”

Veronica gives a small smile as she heads to the nearest examination room that she had set up. As she waves Wesley inside the room, she wonders what he brought the drinks with him for. She decides not to ask, but rather points to the exam table as she pulls the suture tray to her side by the table.

“You wouldn’t mind explaining how exactly you ended up being hit with a lamp, would you?” the doctor asks curiously as she takes up the iodine and cotton ball to clear up the coagulated blood on the biggest gash he has. It doesn’t look to need more than five sutures at the most, which is always good. Veronica begins to wonder if she should stock up suturing tools more than anything else, as she has done more stitching than anything else since she’s moved to town. “If you’d rather not tell me, I understand. I’m just curious what happened to you during the full moon.”

Crossing the distance to the examination table that was set up, Wes sets the two cases of beer down and lifts himself to sit where directed. “Well, ah,” the teleporter hesitates, it’s hard for him to admit that his second nature abilities failed him at such an inappropriate time. He watches how Veronica pauses to start her work until he shares his story. He’s grateful for the few moments to get to know the woman before she sticks a needle through his eyebrow. “I was just teleporting to Loire Valley last night during the full moon but somehow I ended up in Paris.” Wesley explained, taking a moment to give Veronica an innocent grin. “Now. I’ve had this ability almost ten years an I’ve never had issue with this before… Ah’ve had different sorts of trouble but ah almost always end up where I want to be within a couplea feet actually. Loire is about ahundred miles away from Paris.” Wesley took the moment to rub up and down his jeaned thighs in nervousness, his eye dropping from the doctor to the floor. The last thing he wanted was for the previous night to repeat itself in another form. His teleportation abilities were his life. He knew that if he lost those powers, he would be lost and any hope of Emma would’ve been lost forever.