A Vigil Paid [OPEN]

There were precious few events that called for the Doctor to mute the voices within his head, to force them all out. Performing this action took a significant amount of concentration, not to mention dedication. The Doctor only underwent such actions when he truly wished to be... alone.

Such as for intimate time with the wife that he chose.

Alternatively, visiting the graves of the people that he had slain.

"..." The Doctor's eyes gazed at the stone in front of him. Immortality provides too much time for thoughts, at times... This realization had occurred to him some time ago, but it was still something that bothered him. His white covered arms were wrapped around his legs, wearing just a white lab coat and baggy black pants.

Lying before him was the gravestone, the largest in this yard that laid in the lowest level of Hebi Laboratories. Corpses had been laid in this place over the years, the corpses of those that the Doctor had caused who he held no interest in reviving. The largest was a statue, standing in the middle of it all. Spiked hair lifted off the top of a gaunt head, small piercings protruding from nearly every patch of exposed skin. Engraved at the base of the statue was a single word, one that the Doctor had not spoken aloud for some time.

The Doctor's arms were wrapped around his legs, staring at the structure with little interest. For a reason that he could not simply explain, this place made him feel... safe. No individuals to interact with, no exhausting conversations. No need to study or examine. Everything in this space was his doing, and his alone. It was a place of death, a place of morbid fascination. This was one of the few occasions where the Doctor could sleep, and he was trying to coax his body into it.

After all, what would be a better way to convince one's self of the importance of proper rest than thinking about those sacrificed to maintain that life? So it was that the Doctor felt his eyes beginning to close, a feeling of calm passing through him. Slowly, his body moved down to his side, his chest rising and falling as the cold ground met his clothed form.

His lab shoes pressed out along the dirty, a bit jerky at first, but then slowly beginning to adjust, sliding out smoothly. The Doctor was not sufficiently skilled in the arts of sleeping and rest. This is what lead to his head using the grave of a peculiar individual named Shiro.

What are dreams like, I wonder....? The Doctor wondered, never having experienced one himself. [i]Sometimes little Rade kicks out his feet in his sleep, as if he is experiencing trauma that I could not understand... all in his own mind... The Doctor's mind had begun to relax as much as the rest of his body, and it was now starting to drift. As a result, the clump of grey matter in his head was starting to turn off again, leading him down the path of rest, the Doctor finally closed his eyes up, no longer wishing to experience the blessings and curses of conscious, at least for the moment.

"I suppose the only way to avoid....." The Doctor let out a terrific yawn, and before he could really understand what was occurring, he was asleep once more, his body shutting down for some well-deserved rest