[One second, he's running into the speed force, tears streaking his face, throat sore from screaming at no one that can hear him; the next he's falling from the sky down to an earth in the middle of an attack.
Switching gears to deal with the abrupt change in situations is easier than it should be. Getting dropped into a disaster is really only a novelty the first two times it happens to you. It's a task, a distraction he's more than willing to comply with...at first.
And it's easy, most of the converts stand little chance against a speedster that can just snag the mind control devices off the backs of their necks. If he kept at it, left the monsters for some heavy-hitter heroes to take care of, it probably wouldn't take long for him to help take a good chunk of the converts out. And if he were thinking logicaly Thad probably would have stuck to that plan.
Unfortunately, the whole thing is just too easy, leaving him plenty of room to think, to let the scene he'd dropped out of replay in his head on repeat, Bart's words boring a hole in his chest until the pain turns back into rage.
He didn't want to be here. He had his own problems. These people don't matter, this presumably isn't even his world. He doesn't care about saving anyone, he doesn't want to play the hero, he doesn't want the adulation that comes after the fact, he just wants to hit something.
And a lone abominid made for a perfect target.
Leaving the group of converts he'd been dealing with, the monster doesn't have the opportunity to register his presents before he's rushed behind it. Clasping his hands together in a fist he takes a swing at the creature's knee, smashing into the side of it with a satisfying crack. It buckles, bending at a sickening angle and forcing the abominid to fall. And things go fuzzy from there.
All that matters is that rolling current of rage, and the feel of flesh and bone giving way under his fists. It doesn't matter when a swipe of claws lands a hit because he's not paying enough attention, or when teeth skin into his shoulder when he tackles it. It's just more motivation to dig his knees into the sides of its rib cage and smash his fists into its face harder until is STOPS. MOVING.]
< < DIADEM HOTEL > >
[With the attack over it feels like shutting down. Nothing to do but go through the motions, listen, nod, except the hotel and card.
This isn't his world. There is no going home of his own accord. No going back to the future. No confronting his creator. No thinking better of it and finishing the job. No anything. He's stuck without a plan or purpose or way forward and everything feels hollow.
Some part of him notes he should be gathering more information, making some kind of plan, even if it's just plans for what he'll do when these people are no longer willing to pay his way. And maybe he'll do that...maybe. But right now, trying feels pointless. Beyond briefly contemplating whether or not he should ditch the card to avoid them possibly tracking him with it (deciding against it, until he has some essentials), it's hard to keep hold of any solid thoughts or ideas.
So he listlessly drifts, gathering supplies because it's something to do other than stare at the walls of the hotel or fail to fall asleep.
When he finds himself standing in front of a changing room mirror in the first clothing shop he managed to wander into, it's like finally waking up. His hair isn't his, still brown and longer than he's ever liked it. The clothes, picked out by force of habit, still feel like he's dressing to be someone else. Staring at his reflection it's hard to move, hard to breathe and he's not sure how long he's been stuck like that (minutes, hours, nano-seconds?) before that rolling anger floods back in, filling that hollow space in his chest and drowning him.
He feels the pain in his hand, the shards of glass cutting into his knuckles, before he realizes what he's done, the mirror shattering in front of him.]
--- {ooc note: for anyone who knows bart allen, thad is his clone and it's easy to clock, so feel free to have characters recognize him.}
Thaddeus Thawne II | DC Comics
[One second, he's running into the speed force, tears streaking his face, throat sore from screaming at no one that can hear him; the next he's falling from the sky down to an earth in the middle of an attack.
Switching gears to deal with the abrupt change in situations is easier than it should be. Getting dropped into a disaster is really only a novelty the first two times it happens to you. It's a task, a distraction he's more than willing to comply with...at first.
And it's easy, most of the converts stand little chance against a speedster that can just snag the mind control devices off the backs of their necks. If he kept at it, left the monsters for some heavy-hitter heroes to take care of, it probably wouldn't take long for him to help take a good chunk of the converts out. And if he were thinking logicaly Thad probably would have stuck to that plan.
Unfortunately, the whole thing is just too easy, leaving him plenty of room to think, to let the scene he'd dropped out of replay in his head on repeat, Bart's words boring a hole in his chest until the pain turns back into rage.
He didn't want to be here. He had his own problems. These people don't matter, this presumably isn't even his world. He doesn't care about saving anyone, he doesn't want to play the hero, he doesn't want the adulation that comes after the fact, he just wants to hit something.
And a lone abominid made for a perfect target.
Leaving the group of converts he'd been dealing with, the monster doesn't have the opportunity to register his presents before he's rushed behind it. Clasping his hands together in a fist he takes a swing at the creature's knee, smashing into the side of it with a satisfying crack. It buckles, bending at a sickening angle and forcing the abominid to fall. And things go fuzzy from there.
All that matters is that rolling current of rage, and the feel of flesh and bone giving way under his fists. It doesn't matter when a swipe of claws lands a hit because he's not paying enough attention, or when teeth skin into his shoulder when he tackles it. It's just more motivation to dig his knees into the sides of its rib cage and smash his fists into its face harder until is STOPS. MOVING.]
< < DIADEM HOTEL > >
[With the attack over it feels like shutting down. Nothing to do but go through the motions, listen, nod, except the hotel and card.
This isn't his world. There is no going home of his own accord. No going back to the future. No confronting his creator. No thinking better of it and finishing the job. No anything. He's stuck without a plan or purpose or way forward and everything feels hollow.
Some part of him notes he should be gathering more information, making some kind of plan, even if it's just plans for what he'll do when these people are no longer willing to pay his way. And maybe he'll do that...maybe. But right now, trying feels pointless. Beyond briefly contemplating whether or not he should ditch the card to avoid them possibly tracking him with it (deciding against it, until he has some essentials), it's hard to keep hold of any solid thoughts or ideas.
So he listlessly drifts, gathering supplies because it's something to do other than stare at the walls of the hotel or fail to fall asleep.
When he finds himself standing in front of a changing room mirror in the first clothing shop he managed to wander into, it's like finally waking up. His hair isn't his, still brown and longer than he's ever liked it. The clothes, picked out by force of habit, still feel like he's dressing to be someone else. Staring at his reflection it's hard to move, hard to breathe and he's not sure how long he's been stuck like that (minutes, hours, nano-seconds?) before that rolling anger floods back in, filling that hollow space in his chest and drowning him.
He feels the pain in his hand, the shards of glass cutting into his knuckles, before he realizes what he's done, the mirror shattering in front of him.]
---
{ooc note: for anyone who knows bart allen, thad is his clone and it's easy to clock, so feel free to have characters recognize him.}