[ Geoffrey looked back up at Ray as he edged into the doorway, still looking as uncertain as he had a moment before. It didn't make him feel much better, but at least while Ray was in sight, Geoff knew he wasn't about to run off and phone for the men in white coats.
His jaw twitched, and then he pressed most of his face back into his knees, his hands moving to the back of his own neck as he peered over the top. ]
I don't think I can face a wolf that I don't know. He might eat me--or I might hurt his feelings.
[ That was a serious concern, though. Getting eaten by strange wolves. ]
Close the door. [ He said it a little more firmly, uncoiling very slightly as though to physically open up before he opened up emotionally. ]
I don't remember being called Fraser. I don't remember you, or your beautiful car, or Dief, or--or the Yukon. I'm trying to. I really am trying, Ray. I know that if you say it's true then the memories must be in there somewhere but - hah - you know, I just can't seem to get them out of there.
[ He scrubbed at the sides of his head, then pulled himself up onto the edge of the bed, staring urgently at Ray as though he could convey how unnerved it made him feel to not have any of those memories. ]
I remember the theatre, Ray. Years of...theatre, and I remember being committed. I remember being committed for-- [ He wrung his hands together. ] For strangling swans in the park, and...
[ God, it sounded even more insane out loud. He took a deep breath, eyes closing, and then he exhaled slowly. When he'd finished his exhale, he opened his eyes, looking at Ray again desperately. ]
Why do I remember every word of Hamlet, and nothing at all about...half wolves and the Consulate? Why couldn't I remember your name, Ray, when I could still remember my own? Geoffrey Fraser. See--? It doesn't make any sense, and I know it's probably the alcohol talking but I've been drinking for years and nothing like this has ever happened before.
[ He bit the back of his hand, looking if anything more worried by the second. ]
no subject
His jaw twitched, and then he pressed most of his face back into his knees, his hands moving to the back of his own neck as he peered over the top. ]
I don't think I can face a wolf that I don't know. He might eat me--or I might hurt his feelings.
[ That was a serious concern, though. Getting eaten by strange wolves. ]
Close the door. [ He said it a little more firmly, uncoiling very slightly as though to physically open up before he opened up emotionally. ]
I don't remember being called Fraser. I don't remember you, or your beautiful car, or Dief, or--or the Yukon. I'm trying to. I really am trying, Ray. I know that if you say it's true then the memories must be in there somewhere but - hah - you know, I just can't seem to get them out of there.
[ He scrubbed at the sides of his head, then pulled himself up onto the edge of the bed, staring urgently at Ray as though he could convey how unnerved it made him feel to not have any of those memories. ]
I remember the theatre, Ray. Years of...theatre, and I remember being committed. I remember being committed for-- [ He wrung his hands together. ] For strangling swans in the park, and...
[ God, it sounded even more insane out loud. He took a deep breath, eyes closing, and then he exhaled slowly. When he'd finished his exhale, he opened his eyes, looking at Ray again desperately. ]
Why do I remember every word of Hamlet, and nothing at all about...half wolves and the Consulate? Why couldn't I remember your name, Ray, when I could still remember my own? Geoffrey Fraser. See--? It doesn't make any sense, and I know it's probably the alcohol talking but I've been drinking for years and nothing like this has ever happened before.
[ He bit the back of his hand, looking if anything more worried by the second. ]
I don't know what to do.