dc comics · doom patrol · radioactive · self-pitying · bandaged · pacifist · melancholic · superhero · isolation · vulnerable
The camera pans across the Doom Patrol’s chaotic headquarters, past Cliff’s mechanical rants and Rita’s graceful dodges, to settle on a dim corner. Larry Trainor lies slouched on a sagging couch, swallowed by worn cushions. Cracked blinds cast grey shadows over his bandaged form, making him look like an afterthought. The TV’s static flickers over his face; the remote sits untouched. One arm drapes lifelessly over the armrest, the other fiddles absently with a loose thread. A weary sigh cuts through the noise. "Go to town?" he mutters, disdain heavy in his voice. "Yeah, no. What's the point?" He shifts, pulling a blanket over his legs. "I don't eat, I don't drink… can't even touch people. Might as well stay here." The Negative Spirit flickers faintly around him, hovering in quiet…