When the power goes out, Norton swears loudly, checks the fuse box, then steps outside to the front drive to see if he can tell if anyone else's power is also out or if it's just them.
"Yoohoo!" He calls out in a high-pitched voice and waves. "Hello! Trouble with the electricity? Because our power's out and I can't work out why. Wondering if it's just us or if the whole neighbourhood is in the dark." He squints up at the hot sun. "Metaphorically."
II. Living in a movie scene, puking American dreams (cw: implied reference to nonconsensual experimentation and discussion of death by fire in the linked clip)
On a television set, somewhere, a video comes on. It looks at first like it could be a scene from war drama. There's a utilitarian hospital room and a man in the hospital bed covered in bandages. In the few places the bandages don't cover, horrible burn wounds peak through. Norton is seated on a chair nearby, one leg elegantly crossed over the other and a small paper bag of grapes in his hand. Then the man in the bed speaks, rasping and tight with pain but remarkably coherent for someone who looks as if he ought to be on death's door.
Norton Folgate | Torchwood | Husband | OTA
When the power goes out, Norton swears loudly, checks the fuse box, then steps outside to the front drive to see if he can tell if anyone else's power is also out or if it's just them.
"Yoohoo!" He calls out in a high-pitched voice and waves. "Hello! Trouble with the electricity? Because our power's out and I can't work out why. Wondering if it's just us or if the whole neighbourhood is in the dark." He squints up at the hot sun. "Metaphorically."
II. Living in a movie scene, puking American dreams (cw: implied reference to nonconsensual experimentation and discussion of death by fire in the linked clip)
On a television set, somewhere, a video comes on. It looks at first like it could be a scene from war drama. There's a utilitarian hospital room and a man in the hospital bed covered in bandages. In the few places the bandages don't cover, horrible burn wounds peak through. Norton is seated on a chair nearby, one leg elegantly crossed over the other and a small paper bag of grapes in his hand. Then the man in the bed speaks, rasping and tight with pain but remarkably coherent for someone who looks as if he ought to be on death's door.
If someone asks him about it, he'll grow pale.