Most of a lead, the middle of a better in pronoun ownership.
WHO: Some jerky family.
WHERE: NOHoPE.
WHEN: September 3rd, 2011. After hours.
WARNINGS: It's a heartwarming reunion.
SUMMARY: The best way to confront Eddie is to corner him in a mental hospital and tag-team.
FORMAT: Probably paragraph, but it may transform.
He had gotten in the habit of enjoying silent evenings. By now, the novelty of his (temporary) downfall had worn thin and frayed, and no longer were there many evening visitors hovering to haunt. No more heroes skulking in shadows, no more enemies come by with sharp, mocking smiles. Edward regretted the lack of audience almost as much as the sensation of being mourned, but this was a darkly glittering sliver of insight that he so rarely wanted to examine. It was a enough, he had told himself, that his companions were useful. Sirius Black and Katurian both proved individual merit, Ruka offered some guarded entertainment. Arthur and Eames were high in price, but dependable -- and those were the connections he savored.
Edward lay on his back, hands behind his head and a book on his face. The sound of nothing drummed in his ears, an overbearing pound that clawed deeper into his awareness. Nothing, but his own breath. Nothing, but the friction of exhales against paper and inked print. The thud of his heart in his ears, the voices of no one in his head.
He thought the asylum could drive a man insane.
WHERE: NOHoPE.
WHEN: September 3rd, 2011. After hours.
WARNINGS: It's a heartwarming reunion.
SUMMARY: The best way to confront Eddie is to corner him in a mental hospital and tag-team.
FORMAT: Probably paragraph, but it may transform.
He had gotten in the habit of enjoying silent evenings. By now, the novelty of his (temporary) downfall had worn thin and frayed, and no longer were there many evening visitors hovering to haunt. No more heroes skulking in shadows, no more enemies come by with sharp, mocking smiles. Edward regretted the lack of audience almost as much as the sensation of being mourned, but this was a darkly glittering sliver of insight that he so rarely wanted to examine. It was a enough, he had told himself, that his companions were useful. Sirius Black and Katurian both proved individual merit, Ruka offered some guarded entertainment. Arthur and Eames were high in price, but dependable -- and those were the connections he savored.
Edward lay on his back, hands behind his head and a book on his face. The sound of nothing drummed in his ears, an overbearing pound that clawed deeper into his awareness. Nothing, but his own breath. Nothing, but the friction of exhales against paper and inked print. The thud of his heart in his ears, the voices of no one in his head.
He thought the asylum could drive a man insane.