[rp, locked to molotovmartinis]
The moment he started this whole Nexus 'crusade,' he decided that he was no longer afraid of death. He had to. He remembers all the times that he inwardly laughed at people who came into the Nexus looking for trouble. He remembers telling them with a straight face (and he believed this, too--) that going up against the Nexus is suicide. Don't bother. That's it.
So he's going up against the Nexus. So he stopped fearing death.
But he didn't stop fearing. There are times when he wakes up screaming, tangled in his bedsheets, the taste of feargas on his tongue. There are times when he starts shivering without warning, times when he can swear-- for the quickest moment-- that something in the shadows is watching him, notebook poised. He sleeps with his light on. He closes the blinds. He boils water for his meals, and when the timer goes off, his heart trembles in his chest.
Yet he's prepared to die.
Prepared doesn't mean willing, though. He isn't going to kick up his legs and lie there. He isn't going to wait around. For the past few days, he's been portal hopping from magical universe to magical universe to technologically advanced universe to just about anywhere. He's picked up energy shields, healing potions, invisibility dust, fire spells, chemicals that mute supernatural ability (he's especially fond of those), a vest with the pockets to carry everything-- and he isn't going to stop. Not anytime soon, at least. The thing about being a normal human in the Nexus is that it's the Nexus. You don't have to be normal for very long.
And he knows that with these new supplies he isn't invincible by any means, especially not with all of those deities running around. But he knows someone who is not-quite on his side, and not-quite a deity, but maybe, maybe close enough.
He's in an empty apartment when he cuts himself and bleeds on Balthazar's business card. The carpet around him has been stained by the sun-- little dark patches of fuzz rest where the furniture once was. The blinds are closed now. He braces himself and waits, stone-faced. He isn't shivering.
So he's going up against the Nexus. So he stopped fearing death.
But he didn't stop fearing. There are times when he wakes up screaming, tangled in his bedsheets, the taste of feargas on his tongue. There are times when he starts shivering without warning, times when he can swear-- for the quickest moment-- that something in the shadows is watching him, notebook poised. He sleeps with his light on. He closes the blinds. He boils water for his meals, and when the timer goes off, his heart trembles in his chest.
Yet he's prepared to die.
Prepared doesn't mean willing, though. He isn't going to kick up his legs and lie there. He isn't going to wait around. For the past few days, he's been portal hopping from magical universe to magical universe to technologically advanced universe to just about anywhere. He's picked up energy shields, healing potions, invisibility dust, fire spells, chemicals that mute supernatural ability (he's especially fond of those), a vest with the pockets to carry everything-- and he isn't going to stop. Not anytime soon, at least. The thing about being a normal human in the Nexus is that it's the Nexus. You don't have to be normal for very long.
And he knows that with these new supplies he isn't invincible by any means, especially not with all of those deities running around. But he knows someone who is not-quite on his side, and not-quite a deity, but maybe, maybe close enough.
He's in an empty apartment when he cuts himself and bleeds on Balthazar's business card. The carpet around him has been stained by the sun-- little dark patches of fuzz rest where the furniture once was. The blinds are closed now. He braces himself and waits, stone-faced. He isn't shivering.