(no subject)
*Bossuet's alive once more, thanks to the Metatron, and currently sitting, reading-- or trying to. He sets the book aside with a slight frown, rubbing at a spot on his forehead. The bullet hole is gone, but there's a residual throbbing ache where flesh and bone and brain were knit together again, and (as if being suddenly dead and just as suddenly returned isn't enough on its own) it's disorienting.*