Terrestrial Alien ✔

Chapter 60: Take a Seat

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"Take a seat," Dr. Rosalyn says gravely, gesturing to the seat across the table from her.

Her seriousness has commanded control of the small, grey, dingy room, despite the relative softness of her voice. Joshua stands rigidly by the door, hand clenched tight beside the knob. He faces the doctor, torn between defying her and testing her patience, and listening and waiting to rebel another day.

Frustration simmers from his tense shoulders, and Rosalyn merely stares him down cooly, her hand wrapped around her now-empty mug. Perkins and Marlowe stand like hapless bystanders caught in the middle of an inexorable collision.

Joshua has a mind only for Seth. His Sundo. He can't stop worrying about him... Where is that mad scientist taking him? What's he going to do to him? How long until he can see him again? Joshua's head is reeling, searching through everything he knows and desperately trying to find reassurance or some kind of escape plan, but he keeps drawing a blank. He just doesn't know enough about this place to come up with anything of the sort.

His hand clenches tighter beside the door handle, aching to grab hold of it and throw the door open, even though he's positive that it's locked and that Sundo has to be long gone by now.

"Don't make me ask you again," Rosalyn warns slowly, and Joshua's heart catches in his throat.

He looks to Marlowe and Perkins. Marlowe is thoroughly inspecting their shoes, as though they've never seen dirt before.

Alternately, Perkins returns Joshua's gaze steadily, his arms folded. He offers simply the smallest of nods in the direction of the chair Rosalyn had gestured. His countenance seems to say, "It's best to take the path of least resistance, kid. I'd do it if I were you."

Joshua lets out a frustrated breath.

"And what if I don't?" The question burns in his consciousness, in his eyes, on his tongue. He doesn't dare say it aloud, or look at Rosalyn as he asks, even when his clear defiance is directed towards her. Perkins merely shrugs.

"Your funeral."

"Mr. Gonzalo, this isn't up for debate. If you won't sit, I'll simply ask you these necessary questions where you stand. It's your comfort on the line." Rosalyn's patience is clearly wearing thin. She taps her nails on the porcelain of her mug as though she can't believe she has to deal with this without something to drink.

Marlowe raises their eyes finally. They look nervously from the chair to Joshua, and Joshua feels his frustration fragment into shards that cut into his clenched palms.

They're right that resisting will get him nowhere now, but damn does he not what to do what Rosalyn says. He's not used to opposing authority figures, but he can't stand this any longer.

It kills him to cross the room to the other side of the table. He slumps into the chair like a sack of rocks meeting gravity for the first time and glowers across the table at Rosalyn.

"There," she says, smoothing her hands over the papers in her file. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Joshua keeps his head tilted downwards, and doesn't grace her with a response. The lightbulb above them flickers before glowing brightly again, casting him in a surly, downtrodden light.

Rosalyn seems unfazed by his cold shoulder. She flips through a couple of her papers thoughtfully, before bringing her mug to her lips to drink. She only seems to remember that it's empty once she comes back without a drop, and she looks at it for a frowning moment before she appears to recall drinking it.