Wyatt Earp (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
the_marshal) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2013-12-07 06:30 pm
the_marshal) wrote in thearena2013-12-07 06:30 pm
Entry tags:
Come face the day and fear not the grave.
WHO| Wyatt and Ellie
WHAT| End of the line for Wyatt
WHERE| The Labs
WHEN| Early in the final week
Notes/Warnings| Death. Dinosaurs. Death by dinosaur.
Wyatt hadn't forgotten. It had taken him some time to get there, what with his injuries slowing him down and his run-in with Aunamee, but he'd made it. Or, at least, he hoped he had.
The woman had told him she'd left something important in The Labs, something she'd written down, and while he'd certainly found lots of scribbling.... he couldn't say as it what any of it meant.
Hip on the rotted edge of a wobbling desk, Wyatt's eyes roved over the wall, mumbling the words quietly to himself, trying to make sense of them. He recognized some of them, by the flow, as poetry, but couldn't see what made them so special.
Think of it as a lullaby, she'd said, one of her last bloody whispers. He hadn't mistaken, he was sure.
He just didn't get it.
Pushing up to his feet - the desk clattering back to the floor on it's mismatched legs - he reached out to run his fingers over words cut into the walls, as if the tactile sensation of them beneath his fingertips would reveal their meaning.
WHAT| End of the line for Wyatt
WHERE| The Labs
WHEN| Early in the final week
Notes/Warnings| Death. Dinosaurs. Death by dinosaur.
Wyatt hadn't forgotten. It had taken him some time to get there, what with his injuries slowing him down and his run-in with Aunamee, but he'd made it. Or, at least, he hoped he had.
The woman had told him she'd left something important in The Labs, something she'd written down, and while he'd certainly found lots of scribbling.... he couldn't say as it what any of it meant.
Hip on the rotted edge of a wobbling desk, Wyatt's eyes roved over the wall, mumbling the words quietly to himself, trying to make sense of them. He recognized some of them, by the flow, as poetry, but couldn't see what made them so special.
Think of it as a lullaby, she'd said, one of her last bloody whispers. He hadn't mistaken, he was sure.
He just didn't get it.
Pushing up to his feet - the desk clattering back to the floor on it's mismatched legs - he reached out to run his fingers over words cut into the walls, as if the tactile sensation of them beneath his fingertips would reveal their meaning.