I. Because it's been a long night.

II. Because I'm your father.

III. Because I'm the doctor.

IV. Because you're infected.

V. Because of your mother.

VI. Because it's dangerous.

VII. Because the world is cruel.

VIII. Because you're seventeen

IX. Because you're my child.

X. Because you have limitations.

XI. Because you're my everything.

XII. Because I care.

XIII. Because I love you.

What's the most frightening thing you've ever done on purpose? How'd that work out?

I can't really think of anything.

( In all honesty I lead a rather dull life. )

I have discovered that all human evil comes from this, man's being unable to sit still in a room. - Blaise Pascal (1623 - 1662)

There are some days-

Some days. Some. He worries about those days the most because he has a child and he worries so very much about here but there are some days-

Some.

Where it's not enough. Where he finds himself annoyed with the missteps of youth and the common mistakes of every child. Where Shiloh's very presence is enough to drive him mad, where if he saw her his only response would be to turn away and leave. He has no partner to rely on, every seeming failure in preparing her for the world is his and his alone and some days-

Some.

She's slow (everyone has their moments) and it's annoying (He is too. God he is too) and he finds himself restless-stalking back and forth in front of the window like a cat. He takes pleasure in catching himself, in stopping those frenzied footsteps and going upstairs to talk to her, to tell her that he loves her, to listen to every little thing. It is an act of apology on his part. His wonder at being a father always remains fresh that way, some days it's gratifying.

Perhaps I'm not going to hell.

Perhaps I'm not a terrible person.

Perhaps the things that I have done are made right in offering this new life to the world.

Perhaps she's salvation, perhaps she'll save this world our mistakes have made.

Perhaps.

But every day he takes intense pleasure in putting her to bed, locking up the house and practically prancing (prancing! had he fallen so far?) downstairs to dress and go out, between the rooftops and alleys, between the shadows, a veritable ghost, a living shadow.

There are some days he glances back and catches another shadow pacing like a frantic cat in front of her own window wondering why the hell her father's such a bastard, what she did to deserve this and if somehow things will get better.

But most of the time he walks away. It is the province of the free to deny freedom to others so they have something to fight for. To strive for. He is doing right (isn't he?)

Some Days.

[ed note: This is an old justprompts prompt that kind of inspired me last night. Based in part (since I have no canonical background save musics to go on-stuff from leftthefather. Enjoy.]


Nathan Wallace lived his life in the perpetual shadow of things that his parents hadn’t done.

( And things that they had set out to do and never yet accomplished. )

I’m confused. Are you asking about what psychological environment I grew up in? Or are you referring to the actual physical environment that we lived in?


( as surprising as this is going to sound, I was born and raised in California. )

Ten things that you should know about Doctor Nathan Wallace / The Repo-Man.

and leftthefather If you guys still want to play with Nathan (or at least, this Nathan) This'll be pretty well what I'm working from until I actually see the movie. :)

( Cut for massive expounding )

I. I got nothin’ for one. Perhaps I’ll come up with something later.

[037] Wrath

&

[036] Revenge


[OOC Note: leftthefather and dyingking used with out permission and apologies. I had to find something to base this particular prompt.]


In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbow'd.
- William Ernest Henley, "Invictus", 1875


He's Chief SurGEN at GeneCo, a job which carries more prestige then you'd think and it's prestige that Nathan likes. He's behind the scenes-Rotti Largo is it's face, Nathan Wallace is it's heart.

And she is it's soul.

And he can't tell her that because the way she stands there and takes his hand (as a friend) tears him apart inside. The way she leans to Rotti, puts her hand on his cheek, smiles, laughs, glows is killing him slowly. He is a heart infected.

The Surgeon in him says that such a disease should be excised but he can't bring himself to feel anything but the most human emotions in regards to her.
--------

"She reciprocates."

Nathan's eyes go wide behind his glasses. It's Mag, their mutual friend and confidant. Mag who can see nothing and apparently everything.

This is what makes him pause. she's never seen Marni, or Rotti, how-

"...Doctor Wallace, I don't have to see to be aware of how much you care for her-or how much she...thinks..." And Mag's voice trails off here, "That she feels the same."

---------

That's how far it goes. From there it's Romeo and Juliet without the happy ending. It ends (as all good tragedies should) high above the dystopia they call home.

"...And this is how you tell me?" Rotti Largo's hands curl over his sherry glass. In the dark he looks less like the man he thought that he was, "...The traitor and his whore."

That's the only time Nathan Wallace has ever lost his temper. His fist connects with him and suddnely his hands are around his throat. It's cartoonish, it's violent-

Write about an intense game of Hide and Seek that takes a turn for the worse.

They always talk about the Repo-Men in a way that makes them seem more myth then legend.

He has a theory about this. The bigger the myth the more likely it is that people will disregard it. Pre-Plague had the Santa Claus-a home invasion expert who regularly entered domiciles and poisoned children with surgary treats while poisoning their souls with the idea of conformity to a warped and twisted brand of "Morality".

Because if your parents were narcotic users, how could you be expected to be "good" when being raised under their ideals?

The bigger the myth the less likely that the masses will believe that they exist. Besides, no matter what the political state, there was no one person who hadn't been touched by the Repo-Men.

Some way. Some how. It was just a matter of time, the threat of missing out was always there-and if there was one thing that a human being count be counted on ( in regards to presents or visits from your friendly neighborhood axe-murderer) was that no one wanted to miss out.

( She was no different. )