(no subject)
Who: Graham, Billy; Open
When: Yesterday, after re-arrival.
Where: By the riverbank somewhere.
Rating: PG-13 to be safe?
Warnings: Nothing really. Some mania.
Summary: Having completed his mission, Graham returns to Purg.
Graham quickly discovered the "river" was hardly that; it ran at little more than a trickle as he made his path away from the terminal. Really, even the sound of it was taunting. So with some stumbling about he found a small pool of water instead-- he ignored, or was too dazed to notice, the discoloration and whatever was still alive-- and didn't even take the time to discard his gloves before throwing some of it into his face with a gasp. The coolness was pleasantly numbing, but hardly enough. He didn't need to see the burn to know the damage it had dealt.
But when the water settled, he had time to catch a glimpse of it anyway. To watch his own expression go shell-shocked as he sat back, catching himself with his hands.
And by the time the pain became relevant again, Graham couldn't control himself any longer-- he practically had to grip his sides. A gentle snicker, hardly audible, grew into uproarious laughter before it was split by a vicious coughing fit, still speckled with grins and chuckles (and blood, but that was unimportant). Tears completely inspired by amusement settled at the corners of his eyes as he ran out of breath and his organs objected the continued abuse.
He was still alive. They were still alive. The others were still dead.
And now he was in a world with a plate for a sky to "repent" for his sins, just after he'd tossed aside the last universe he resided in to the crows.
Something about it all just seemed too funny as the laughter started up again.
When: Yesterday, after re-arrival.
Where: By the riverbank somewhere.
Rating: PG-13 to be safe?
Warnings: Nothing really. Some mania.
Summary: Having completed his mission, Graham returns to Purg.
Graham quickly discovered the "river" was hardly that; it ran at little more than a trickle as he made his path away from the terminal. Really, even the sound of it was taunting. So with some stumbling about he found a small pool of water instead-- he ignored, or was too dazed to notice, the discoloration and whatever was still alive-- and didn't even take the time to discard his gloves before throwing some of it into his face with a gasp. The coolness was pleasantly numbing, but hardly enough. He didn't need to see the burn to know the damage it had dealt.
But when the water settled, he had time to catch a glimpse of it anyway. To watch his own expression go shell-shocked as he sat back, catching himself with his hands.
And by the time the pain became relevant again, Graham couldn't control himself any longer-- he practically had to grip his sides. A gentle snicker, hardly audible, grew into uproarious laughter before it was split by a vicious coughing fit, still speckled with grins and chuckles (and blood, but that was unimportant). Tears completely inspired by amusement settled at the corners of his eyes as he ran out of breath and his organs objected the continued abuse.
He was still alive. They were still alive. The others were still dead.
And now he was in a world with a plate for a sky to "repent" for his sins, just after he'd tossed aside the last universe he resided in to the crows.
Something about it all just seemed too funny as the laughter started up again.