Nightmares [ATTN: Moonie, possible Dib :: Closed]
CHARACTERS: Sebastian, Moonie, possible appearances of a Dib
SUMMARY: Apparently, demons are awake at ungodly hours of the morning. Particularly when suddenly subjected to silly human things they haven't had to deal with before like nightmares.
PLACE: House 2A
TIME: Horrible early hour
WARNINGS: Demons! Moonie.
There were a few bleary minutes, when Sebastian woke up, where he had half-scrambled into a feral, wobbly crouch, claws digging into the sheets, shaking off a myriad haze of injuries and pain, taking advantage of having freedom of movement he didn't feel like he should have to try to be some kind of defensive ball of sharp edges under broken, impaled wings that weren't there. He was honestly slow to wake up and recognize his surroundings; that he was in a bed instead of nailed to a stone church floor, there was no binding circle around him or consecrated spikes driven through him poisoning him slowly, and no sign of any half-mad angel of judgment looming on "guard duty" taking any sign of movement as "potential trouble needing dealt with". No humans with spells, no spiritual brands of seals, no gateway to somewhere else laying claim to him.
Even if sleep was an occasional luxury for demons, they just didn't sleep deeply enough usually to dream, and nightmares were even more rare. Waking up soaked in sweat and tangled in his own sheets was a novelty, and as near as he could tell he was perfectly intact, although he couldn't quite shake the phantom stinging of 1600 year old injuries, nor the disorienting absence of shattered, hurting dead weight off his back.
He was also starving, well past what would be normal for him; enough that while hunting properly was well out, food was going to trump a shower.
He pulled on plain, loose, light black clothes and a pair of white gloves he'd managed to find in the dressers and shambled out into the kitchen, staring at the fridge and still trying to shake off the nightmare.
He hadn't been able to shift towards his other-form since he arrived here; not that he used it more than once or twice a century anyway, but the lack of it as an option was grating, especially when his first instinct was to pull out three eggs and then remember how awkward whole raw eggs were in humanshape. He set the carton of heavy cream on the counter, he pulled out a bowl and set to cracking the eggs into it.
SUMMARY: Apparently, demons are awake at ungodly hours of the morning. Particularly when suddenly subjected to silly human things they haven't had to deal with before like nightmares.
PLACE: House 2A
TIME: Horrible early hour
WARNINGS: Demons! Moonie.
There were a few bleary minutes, when Sebastian woke up, where he had half-scrambled into a feral, wobbly crouch, claws digging into the sheets, shaking off a myriad haze of injuries and pain, taking advantage of having freedom of movement he didn't feel like he should have to try to be some kind of defensive ball of sharp edges under broken, impaled wings that weren't there. He was honestly slow to wake up and recognize his surroundings; that he was in a bed instead of nailed to a stone church floor, there was no binding circle around him or consecrated spikes driven through him poisoning him slowly, and no sign of any half-mad angel of judgment looming on "guard duty" taking any sign of movement as "potential trouble needing dealt with". No humans with spells, no spiritual brands of seals, no gateway to somewhere else laying claim to him.
Even if sleep was an occasional luxury for demons, they just didn't sleep deeply enough usually to dream, and nightmares were even more rare. Waking up soaked in sweat and tangled in his own sheets was a novelty, and as near as he could tell he was perfectly intact, although he couldn't quite shake the phantom stinging of 1600 year old injuries, nor the disorienting absence of shattered, hurting dead weight off his back.
He was also starving, well past what would be normal for him; enough that while hunting properly was well out, food was going to trump a shower.
He pulled on plain, loose, light black clothes and a pair of white gloves he'd managed to find in the dressers and shambled out into the kitchen, staring at the fridge and still trying to shake off the nightmare.
He hadn't been able to shift towards his other-form since he arrived here; not that he used it more than once or twice a century anyway, but the lack of it as an option was grating, especially when his first instinct was to pull out three eggs and then remember how awkward whole raw eggs were in humanshape. He set the carton of heavy cream on the counter, he pulled out a bowl and set to cracking the eggs into it.