Anthony (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
scramasax) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
savetheearth2013-09-25 11:17 pm
scramasax) wrote in savetheearth2013-09-25 11:17 pm
Entry tags:
[Closed]
Who: John Mitchell and Anthony Janvier
Where: John's apartment.
When: Night of Sept. 21 - just when John gets home from assisting a certain shadow-melding chap.
What: John had a very strange Saturday night.
[John had already stepped out when Anthony had taken to the network, and seen recording and corroborative word hit of pink aurora-like lights in the sky exactly like April's, and had dragged himself in haste to the window - quick looks down and as far along the sides as he could see to avoid being seen, and scanned and spotted for them - there was the pink light in the sky.
The buzzing had risen into his head.
The known hollow pulse had struck - and for a split second of foreboding he'd anticipated what came - it was about time - before the yellow flashes started to visibly glow. They repeated, held, rose, rippled waved and burned with a stark acuteness that his fading receptors had forgotten to prepare themselves for, and his limbs seized and he sank as the light spread through.
He'd hauled himself to the bathroom mirror once it was over. Flung a hand on the sink's side, used the other to tug the door shut - leaned in close.
Blinked sunken and hollow dry grayed-over eyes to a widening in a green-casted face - now worn open, bloodily, in little nicks and holes - and emitted a wavering moan. It didn't last even as long as the breath did.
His thoughts splashed scattered and cold down to a blank spread, and he dropped down with them.
That is where he is now. The sheet of paper with his number jotted down onto it is still on the sofa. The bathroom door's still shut. And he has no sense of how long it's been - he is trying as he might not to think, for now. Not too hard. Not too deeply, not too coherently yet - a pressure mounted and chilling, keeping him in place, and his lungs measuredly hitching, and his head low and back from straightening - everything is freezing and frozen...]
Where: John's apartment.
When: Night of Sept. 21 - just when John gets home from assisting a certain shadow-melding chap.
What: John had a very strange Saturday night.
[John had already stepped out when Anthony had taken to the network, and seen recording and corroborative word hit of pink aurora-like lights in the sky exactly like April's, and had dragged himself in haste to the window - quick looks down and as far along the sides as he could see to avoid being seen, and scanned and spotted for them - there was the pink light in the sky.
The buzzing had risen into his head.
The known hollow pulse had struck - and for a split second of foreboding he'd anticipated what came - it was about time - before the yellow flashes started to visibly glow. They repeated, held, rose, rippled waved and burned with a stark acuteness that his fading receptors had forgotten to prepare themselves for, and his limbs seized and he sank as the light spread through.
He'd hauled himself to the bathroom mirror once it was over. Flung a hand on the sink's side, used the other to tug the door shut - leaned in close.
Blinked sunken and hollow dry grayed-over eyes to a widening in a green-casted face - now worn open, bloodily, in little nicks and holes - and emitted a wavering moan. It didn't last even as long as the breath did.
His thoughts splashed scattered and cold down to a blank spread, and he dropped down with them.
That is where he is now. The sheet of paper with his number jotted down onto it is still on the sofa. The bathroom door's still shut. And he has no sense of how long it's been - he is trying as he might not to think, for now. Not too hard. Not too deeply, not too coherently yet - a pressure mounted and chilling, keeping him in place, and his lungs measuredly hitching, and his head low and back from straightening - everything is freezing and frozen...]