a window to hell <<OPEN

[ALPHA !]

there's a crack in the edge of the end of the world
where I will sit with my love in its fluorescent swirl.

Here. I am here. I am here. I am here. But Alpha was not there, or wherever it was he believed he was. As he incessantly tapped the picture on the wall with his pointer finger, eyes close up to it, looking more at pixel dots of color than an actual landscape. For three hours he had been standing this way, and though his legs were beginning to ache, he could see no end to the meaningless action. For while forty-seven personalities tried to take control, the picture was something to keep the petty fools occupied while he did the real work. It had been weeks since he had visited the Dollhouse, and still he had not made his appearance in the imprint room, though, truth be told, he could see why, considering the chaos that he'd created last he was in the room with the chair. Yet Alpha couldn't bring himself to return to the Dollhouse when he knew he could make no headway with Topher. Besides, it was much easier to plot and scheme from here, out in the ruins where all he had to worry about were the butchers that roamed about outside. Inside he had to wonder if Dewitt was monitoring his every move, if they were going to chuck him up in the Attic, if Echo was nearby. But out here in he ruins of Los Angeles there was only him, and his “companions,” of course, but they didn't count as far as he was concerned.

He'd had enough of the squabbling in his mind, and with a violent jerk, he stumbled backwards away from the picture, his eyes wide and heated. Alpha stared at the picture from far away. Echo, standing outside the Dollhouse, that man—that horrible man—at her side. And yet, Alpha knew he had no one to blame but himself. He'd put her in those capable hands, under the care of those crooning eyes, matched the two forces against each other, made them work off each other. But there was never any room for Alpha. Not anymore. Why would Echo thank him for her composite event? No, no, she had handsome Mr. Ballard helping her along, forget about the man in the wings. The wing man? He did not like the sound of that, nor the implications. Alpha's hands crumbled against his temples as he pounded his head to remove the thought, but the more he tried to forget about it, the more it bothered him. He should have known, could have guessed. The one flaw in his great plan would be his undoing. Alpha sank to the floor, quivering, pulling himself over to the stool with the jar of peanut butter on it. Carefully licking the edge of the knife and putting it back into the bottle, Alpha scraped at the miniscule amounts left. It would be time for a grocery run soon enough, perhaps even that day. Maybe that was all he needed, a break, a rest. It had been a long time since he had slept, and the danger that awaited him in the outside world would be a good escape from everything else that was happening.

But as he was about to exit the warehouse, Alpha returned for one more glance at the picture, at Echo, and he grimaced. Maybe it was time to visit the Dollhouse again, but perhaps not to see Topher. He was using the wrong channels, the wrong man. If he wanted to get anything done he'd have to use like minds. Someone who understood exactly the position they were in and how imperative it was that he get a ticket to the imprinting room. He headed for the door again. To the grocery store, then off to visit Echo and perhaps prevent the impending apocalypse. More so than the ruins that were already here. If he just so happened to run into a Butcher along the way, he had his knife. Or would. He stalked back to the peanut butter jar and removed it, slipping it into the sheath on his belt loop. It had been awhile since he had crossed paths with one of the creatures, perhaps because Rossum had understood finally that he was a force not to be overlooked. If he could get his hands on an imprinting chair, everything would start looking up for the Actuals. Now if only he could find them.

Lyrics - Say Anything

[ADELLE DEWITT]

It was rather stupid of her to be go above ground, she knew that. Though she also knew that she would be safe if she stayed away from all electronics and kept a really big gun at her side. She didn't much like going above ground. She worried often about blanket signals and the possibility of getting hit with one. In a sense that worried her more then the butchers, though in both scenerios she was sure that she wouldn't be returning to the Dollhouse and leaving a distraught Topher behind. She couldn't bear the thought, but she knew that she had to break the routine somehow. That she had to go above ground long enough to break the monotony of beige (not that the constant black abyss that was Los Angeles helped much).

Her days at the house went something like this: wake up, check on Topher, eat breakfast, coax Topher into eating breakfast, try to keep herself from going stir crazy, get Topher to eat lunch, watch the rest of he actives at circle, get Topher to make his medication, help prepare dinner, eat dinner, get Topher to eat dinner, and finally sleep. There was no break in the routine. Nothing like it was before when she used to run the house. She never thought that she might actually miss the annoyed glitches that were caused by Alpha or something Topher had managed to twaddle up in the imprint. She now realized just how much more exciting they made her life after the world came to an end and for someone that hated surprises she could tell you first hand that you should be careful what yu wished for.

She walked around downtown LA, not too far from the House but far enough, checking the little stores trying to find anything that might serve as a food source for a time. She knew it was probably useless the butchers had probably picked the stores clean by now. Sighing she continued walking, keeping her gun posed in case one of the many butchers decided they wanted her for a snack.