[There are a lot of angles to approach this from, and Bigby has been in the hospital long enough to assess and sort each of them, starting from most-likely-to-get-him-drugged to most-likely-to-put-him-in-the-ICU. He could come out swinging, making life hell for the staff, demanding answers to questions he's already getting the feeling will be unanswerable. Something about that one feels like a challenge, though, even natural, like this is par the course for a day in the phantasmagorical shitshow that he's slowly remembering is called his life. Incredibly tempting as it is, it's not exactly practical right now given the state he's in, and the last thing he wants is to take a needle or three to the neck.
Running has never felt like a valid option before, of that he's certain of even in the depths of the chaotic, constantly shifting memories that ebb in and out of focus like the persistent flickerings of a dying lightbulb. Still, it's the one Bigby chooses when he makes his not-so-great escape from the hospital on the night of the second day following his awakening, and if he didn't feel like a prisoner already in the middle of that sterile, vaguely stifling building, he sure as hell does now as he makes his way through the parking lot, wearing a jacket stolen on his way out past the (thankfully empty) security guard station. The guard left his car keys in his coat pocket; another lucky break, and one to further the overall sketchy image Bigby is horribly self-aware he's providing as he goes from car to car in the small lot, trying the key on each door to see if it fits. As far as he's concerned, this is justifiable given the situation, and it's not as if he intends to keep it, though whoever happens to be (un)lucky enough to happen by to witness this sad scene may think otherwise.
Finally, he finds a match and slips into the car... only to realize two very important things once he has a chance to get his bearings.
one: he has no idea where he should be going.
two: he...isn't sure what he should be doing. because while he's definitely been in a car before, he's 90% sure he doesn't know how to drive one, the more he looks at what he has to work with in front of him.
well. shit.
huffing a sigh, Bigby slumps and rests his head against the steering wheel, closing his eyes long enough to give whoever might be watching a chance to get the drop on him.]
two — into the woods
[Horrific screaming in the middle of the spooky woods? What could go wrong?
Well, a lot, actually. But Bigby isn't expecting the best when he takes off in the direction of the commotion, and he's not looking to have the easiest time remedying whatever sort of trouble is going on here, so he's not particularly put off when he sees the wall. Curious, for sure, but there's that word again: challenge. If anything, the lack of a body and the conclusive proof that there was definitely someone here at some point has given him even more of a reason to want to get to the bottom of this, if not out of concern then definitely out of spite to whatever forces are making this difficult. It's sort of a really contradictory package deal with him.
But the closer he gets to it, the weaker he feels, like he's finished a marathon swimming in the depths of a very stormy sea of water. His muscles feel sore in ways he hasn't felt in a long, long time, fatigue washing over him in a wave. It's very noticeable, as is the smell of burnt ozone as he gets closer to the fence. Doubling back wouldn't be an option if he didn't think he could slip under the fence regardless, but at this point, he's not even sure that he has the energy.
This is bad. Really bad. When he puts enough distance back between himself and the fence, all Bigby can do is stay lowered to the ground, feeling his energy begin to pool back in unsatisfying trickles. It has to be magic, just has to be—]
bigby wolf | the wolf among us
[There are a lot of angles to approach this from, and Bigby has been in the hospital long enough to assess and sort each of them, starting from most-likely-to-get-him-drugged to most-likely-to-put-him-in-the-ICU. He could come out swinging, making life hell for the staff, demanding answers to questions he's already getting the feeling will be unanswerable. Something about that one feels like a challenge, though, even natural, like this is par the course for a day in the phantasmagorical shitshow that he's slowly remembering is called his life. Incredibly tempting as it is, it's not exactly practical right now given the state he's in, and the last thing he wants is to take a needle or three to the neck.
Running has never felt like a valid option before, of that he's certain of even in the depths of the chaotic, constantly shifting memories that ebb in and out of focus like the persistent flickerings of a dying lightbulb. Still, it's the one Bigby chooses when he makes his not-so-great escape from the hospital on the night of the second day following his awakening, and if he didn't feel like a prisoner already in the middle of that sterile, vaguely stifling building, he sure as hell does now as he makes his way through the parking lot, wearing a jacket stolen on his way out past the (thankfully empty) security guard station. The guard left his car keys in his coat pocket; another lucky break, and one to further the overall sketchy image Bigby is horribly self-aware he's providing as he goes from car to car in the small lot, trying the key on each door to see if it fits. As far as he's concerned, this is justifiable given the situation, and it's not as if he intends to keep it, though whoever happens to be (un)lucky enough to happen by to witness this sad scene may think otherwise.
Finally, he finds a match and slips into the car... only to realize two very important things once he has a chance to get his bearings.
one: he has no idea where he should be going.
two: he...isn't sure what he should be doing. because while he's definitely been in a car before, he's 90% sure he doesn't know how to drive one, the more he looks at what he has to work with in front of him.
well. shit.
huffing a sigh, Bigby slumps and rests his head against the steering wheel, closing his eyes long enough to give whoever might be watching a chance to get the drop on him.]
two — into the woods
[Horrific screaming in the middle of the spooky woods? What could go wrong?
Well, a lot, actually. But Bigby isn't expecting the best when he takes off in the direction of the commotion, and he's not looking to have the easiest time remedying whatever sort of trouble is going on here, so he's not particularly put off when he sees the wall. Curious, for sure, but there's that word again: challenge. If anything, the lack of a body and the conclusive proof that there was definitely someone here at some point has given him even more of a reason to want to get to the bottom of this, if not out of concern then definitely out of spite to whatever forces are making this difficult. It's sort of a really contradictory package deal with him.
But the closer he gets to it, the weaker he feels, like he's finished a marathon swimming in the depths of a very stormy sea of water. His muscles feel sore in ways he hasn't felt in a long, long time, fatigue washing over him in a wave. It's very noticeable, as is the smell of burnt ozone as he gets closer to the fence. Doubling back wouldn't be an option if he didn't think he could slip under the fence regardless, but at this point, he's not even sure that he has the energy.
This is bad. Really bad. When he puts enough distance back between himself and the fence, all Bigby can do is stay lowered to the ground, feeling his energy begin to pool back in unsatisfying trickles. It has to be magic, just has to be—]
The hell is this thing?
wildcard
[woof]