The pen in Edward's hand, a rather nice limited edition Mont Blanc original honoring Lorenzo de' Medici, snapped between his fingers as the only sign of a conhesive mental battle to remain seated past the first forty seconds after Meg's door had opened.
The rest of him wasn't moving. Not overtly. The Angel was there. She was talking. He was listening. To her words. To the shambles of her mind.
Then it was gone.
And so was Edward from his chair.
"What did you do to her?"
It's very hard to tell what is enunciated more there. The whole thing is closer to a snarl than words.
He'd seen the hand, felt that she'd felt a touch from the fingers, and then everything had shifted to the bare little the others around the room who'd glanced of hadn't that way, as Meg's conscious awareness dissolved instantly.
If having to rework his jaw for four very long seconds, ended up with the words -- "You could have asked her first." -- then maybe he's learned something from dealing with everything Bella through April until now, even if it's not by any shot lost of being temperamental.
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The rest of him wasn't moving. Not overtly.
The Angel was there. She was talking.
He was listening. To her words.
To the shambles of her mind.
Then it was gone.
And so was Edward from his chair.
"What did you do to her?"
It's very hard to tell what is enunciated more there.
The whole thing is closer to a snarl than words.
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It is odd. The momentary resemblance between father and son. But he chooses not to comment on it at this time.
"She needed to sleep," he says, levelly.
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If having to rework his jaw for four very long seconds, ended up with the words -- "You could have asked her first." -- then maybe he's learned something from dealing with everything Bella through April until now, even if it's not by any shot lost of being temperamental.
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"What purpose would that have served?"
Meg had needed rest, and had needed it as quickly as possible.
And without undue argument.
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Blame the faint but present smell of blood.
"Castiel."
Beat.
"She is not okay?"
X worries. But Castiel does not seem to be -- not enough for it to be truly dangerous, so --
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"Not entirely," he says.
The sling and the cut cheeks speak for themselves.
"She said that there was a car accident."
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X's voice is flat.
"You do not know more?"
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Castiel takes it as a matter of course that X will know who Alain is.
"She also said that her injuries are minor. But she was nearing exhaustion."
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"What are you doing?
"Who's that lady?
"Is she okay?"
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And, after a moment's thought, decides to take the questions in order.
"I am waiting for her to wake up."
"This is Meg."
"She was in a car accident."
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"Where's the car?"
And how does a person have a car accident inside a building, anyway?
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"Canada."
That is his assumption.
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