Somebody hates me...
who ; Harry Dresden and YOU!!
what ; Harry is so glad he came back from the dead just in time to be naked in space. SO GLAD.
where ; Garden Zone 01
when ; ...now?
warning(s); ...yeah, Harry's naked. If that doesn't bother you, then we're good.
There's a naked man in the first garden zone. He's standing with his forehead against a tree, eyes closed, muttering a long string of curses about bitchy fairy queens and angels who can't give a straight answer and his entire stupid life.
Every now and then he thumps his forehead against the tree. It hurts, in a dull, ordinary way. That's kind of reassuring. It's helping to convince him he's really alive again, not still dead and actually in hell.
He hasn't tried to turn on his wearable yet. He doesn't trust it not to blow upon his wrist, and there's no chance he's trusting the teleporter. All of which leaves him with an irradiated junkyard full of sharp objects and technology on one side and what looks like pretty massive wilderness on the other, with no plan and, possibly more importantly, no pants. Harry's had worse days, but most of those involved blood and fire and explosions.
He sighs, turns around to put his back to the tree, and finds a small group of llamas has gathered to stare at him. Harry glares at them. "What're you looking at?"
what ; Harry is so glad he came back from the dead just in time to be naked in space. SO GLAD.
where ; Garden Zone 01
when ; ...now?
warning(s); ...yeah, Harry's naked. If that doesn't bother you, then we're good.
There's a naked man in the first garden zone. He's standing with his forehead against a tree, eyes closed, muttering a long string of curses about bitchy fairy queens and angels who can't give a straight answer and his entire stupid life.
Every now and then he thumps his forehead against the tree. It hurts, in a dull, ordinary way. That's kind of reassuring. It's helping to convince him he's really alive again, not still dead and actually in hell.
He hasn't tried to turn on his wearable yet. He doesn't trust it not to blow upon his wrist, and there's no chance he's trusting the teleporter. All of which leaves him with an irradiated junkyard full of sharp objects and technology on one side and what looks like pretty massive wilderness on the other, with no plan and, possibly more importantly, no pants. Harry's had worse days, but most of those involved blood and fire and explosions.
He sighs, turns around to put his back to the tree, and finds a small group of llamas has gathered to stare at him. Harry glares at them. "What're you looking at?"