a. [Numbers is mostly lingering on the edges of the square, more inclined to simply watch and observe the partygoers and try to make sense of suburbia. He had always looked from the outside in on these kinds of towns, and never really gotten a chance to be immersed in people's day-to-day lives. The more he watches and learns, the more puzzled he becomes. Why would anyone ever chose to live in this kind of place? To blatantly, intentionally ignore issues in favor of social cohesion? To suffocate others and be suffocated--what was all this posturing for? Who benefited from all of this? Because the citizens certainly didn't seem to be gaining anything.

Despite trying to look inconspicuous, Numbers looks way more out of place by not engaging, a disgruntled expression on his face as he watches the townies giggle and sip hot chocolate and talk about new year's resolutions. He wrinkles his nose, a deeper frown settling on his face.]

Do people ever actually keep up with new year's resolutions? [He mutters, to no one in particular--though you might overhear if you happen to be in range.] Why wouldn't you just make a goal at any other point during the year? That's what I would do.

b. [And then comes the onslaught of memories. By the end of it, Numbers is doubled over and gasping for breath, his vision returning. He hears the faint cheer of people around him, ringing in the new year, but he ignores it. His head whips around as he tries to find someone--anyone else who might look out of place or ill at ease. When he's found a target. He doesn't hesitate--he stumbles forward through the crowd, slightly uncoordinated, and reaches forward to tightly grasp the person's shoulders.]

You saw it too, didn't you? [His voice is demanding, aggressive. Still recovering, he doesn't seem to care that his behavior is clearly visible to anyone else watching. Numbers shakes the person in his grasp, trying to illicit a response.] Tell me what you saw!

[Gunfire rings out in the department store as Numbers fires at several oncoming mannequins to no avail. He knew that department stores were a special kind of evil, but he didn't expect this to be a potential danger. Realizing that he'd be wasting more ammo, Numbers lets out a frustrated growl and holsters his pistol. He sprints in the opposite direction as fast as he can, turning the corner in the hopes of finding a place to hide and losing these freaks as quickly as possible.

He doesn't anticipate running smack into another mannequin, which lobs a hefty punch at his gut. Numbers lets out a surprised yell, stumbles, and slips. He falls onto the linoleum tiles and gets the wind knocked out of him. A sharp wheeze punctuates the air. More plastic hands move to swing at him, and instinctively, he moves his arms up to protect his face. He can take on one mannequin no problem, but four, all moving to bludgeon him to death?

He's going to need a little help. Numbers managers to snarl out what he considers a cry for help:]

GET THESE ASSHOLES OFF ME!

[It turns out that the community doesn't take kindly to Numbers' aggressive approach to pushing against the town's placid veneer. After the New Year's incident and the mannequins, Numbers found it upon himself to walk into the police precinct and try to goad answers out of the local policemen. He was well aware this was a stupid idea, that he would be attracting the attention of law enforcement, but he was impatient--he needed to see how the local authorities operated, if they were crooked or otherwise simply conforming, as the rest of the town was. But of course, he got nothing--the police simply asked him to leave, repeatedly, until Numbers realized he was getting nowhere and stormed out.

That night, he wakes up in a basement. And as much as he snarls and snaps at Norman, it's to no effect. Numbers has suffered through previous torture and abuse--it came with the line of work he was in. But never like this.

The next morning, Numbers wakes up in his bed.

Throughout the next week, Numbers stumbles around town, going through the motions of walking himself to the grocery store, staring at the frozen food aisle, not buying anything, then stumbling back home. He seems dazed, confused, his expression vacant. His appearance is bedraggled, hardly bothering to groom himself or look presentable when he drags himself out of the house--which is alarming to those who know how carefully Numbers tries to present himself. Some days, he'll just wander randomly, not really sure where he's going or what he needs to do, just knowing that he needs to move.]

[If you wanna chat about other ideas for the event, HMU @ wolfnoir or my OOC plotting post!]