Anyone with half a heart would let me drown
Characters: Nathaniel | John (knew_anyway), and Bartimaeus (imakefootnotes)
When: Tuesday night
Where: Outside of their residence
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Nathaniel wants to dig his grave up to see what's inside, but he can't do it alone. Bartimaeus has his own agenda.
He hadn't worked up a sweat through physical exertion in quite some time.
Nathaniel wiped his brow on the back of his cuff, looking up toward the headstone. He had already found his own, and upon finding a shovel, marred it to destroy his true name that marked the grave. The headstone was just a rock now, missing the words that would claim it as his own.
It was then that he took the shovel and set to work.
But he didn't get very far. Each time the metal hit the dirt, another flash tore through his mind. Standing at the base of the building, knowing already what was to come. A pile of dirt, slung aside, in the cool night air. His shovel striking again- a silver disk, tearing into his shoulder. Another bit of dirt, and again- his side being ripped apart, blood pouring out of him, his consciousness fading. And once more- muttering the words to release the djinn, an explosion of light-
-Nathaniel found himself blinking back tears, and he had to stumble back, unable to continue. He pressed his hand to his face, belatedly realizing that it was covered in splinters from the shovel. The magician stumbled, fell backwards into the soft dirt.
He took a moment to compose himself. Two. The pile of removed dirt was pitifully small- he didn't even make a dent in the grave. How was he supposed to dig it up like this? He wasn't. He couldn't.
Another pause. He couldn't make Faisal do it- he didn't know what effect his death would have on Faisal's summoning, and he couldn't let the foliot get close to learning his name. He couldn't ask anyone else- nobody else knew he was dead (and they couldn't know, not yet, not when he was trying with all of his might to get them to believe in him).
It was with a resigned sigh that he fell onto his back in the dirt of his own grave, staring up at the night sky, his hands stinging and bleeding.
"Bartimaeus," he finally uttered into the open air, fingers tightening into fists. He couldn't do this alone. "Bartimaeus! Attend to me!"
He was really, really starting to think that this was a bad idea.
When: Tuesday night
Where: Outside of their residence
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Nathaniel wants to dig his grave up to see what's inside, but he can't do it alone. Bartimaeus has his own agenda.
He hadn't worked up a sweat through physical exertion in quite some time.
Nathaniel wiped his brow on the back of his cuff, looking up toward the headstone. He had already found his own, and upon finding a shovel, marred it to destroy his true name that marked the grave. The headstone was just a rock now, missing the words that would claim it as his own.
It was then that he took the shovel and set to work.
But he didn't get very far. Each time the metal hit the dirt, another flash tore through his mind. Standing at the base of the building, knowing already what was to come. A pile of dirt, slung aside, in the cool night air. His shovel striking again- a silver disk, tearing into his shoulder. Another bit of dirt, and again- his side being ripped apart, blood pouring out of him, his consciousness fading. And once more- muttering the words to release the djinn, an explosion of light-
-Nathaniel found himself blinking back tears, and he had to stumble back, unable to continue. He pressed his hand to his face, belatedly realizing that it was covered in splinters from the shovel. The magician stumbled, fell backwards into the soft dirt.
He took a moment to compose himself. Two. The pile of removed dirt was pitifully small- he didn't even make a dent in the grave. How was he supposed to dig it up like this? He wasn't. He couldn't.
Another pause. He couldn't make Faisal do it- he didn't know what effect his death would have on Faisal's summoning, and he couldn't let the foliot get close to learning his name. He couldn't ask anyone else- nobody else knew he was dead (and they couldn't know, not yet, not when he was trying with all of his might to get them to believe in him).
It was with a resigned sigh that he fell onto his back in the dirt of his own grave, staring up at the night sky, his hands stinging and bleeding.
"Bartimaeus," he finally uttered into the open air, fingers tightening into fists. He couldn't do this alone. "Bartimaeus! Attend to me!"
He was really, really starting to think that this was a bad idea.