brethren.
Who: custodismundi and kinships
Where: 1648 Albright Lane.
When: After waking up from Nukefield.
What: Reunion.
Warnings: Mentions of gruesome nukefield shenanigans, death, wheezing, etc. Copious bro cuddles.
It had been rather anti-climactic, really.
After 986 years and countless brushes with a 'death' that had never really come for him, Abel Nightroad had died -- alone, a single man among the skeleton of a nuclear blasted town. There was nothing particular or special about it... he had left his small brother in the care of Mr. Kent, and then he had quietly left to wander like an animal sensing that its time was simply up.
...And then it was.
The chirping of birds outside the master bedroom window was... surreal. The softness of sheets over him, the comfort of a mattress to sleep on and warm blankets -- air, pure and untainted. The thick old-fashioned spectacles were waiting for him on the nightstand table, and he could see his drone wife's robe hung up in the same place she put it every morning, hear the clink of dishes from the kitchen that said she was making breakfast. As he sits up, the bedroom that had been smoldering rubble and debris days prior was immaculate as it had ever been, as if it had never been touched at all.
The view out the window suggests the rest of the town is the same. Hauntingly perfect; hauntingly untouched by the nuclear fallout they had borne witness to.
He reaches-- gently plucks the rosary up from where it's been rested on the nightstand beside his glasses, and pulls it up over his head. Then Abel is finding his feet, his heart beginning to pick up pace in his chest as he stands.
...It hurts. He isn't sure what he is mourning -- or if he's mourning all of it, but his cheeks are wet as he finds his way out of the bedroom to find his brother.
Where: 1648 Albright Lane.
When: After waking up from Nukefield.
What: Reunion.
Warnings: Mentions of gruesome nukefield shenanigans, death, wheezing, etc. Copious bro cuddles.
It had been rather anti-climactic, really.
After 986 years and countless brushes with a 'death' that had never really come for him, Abel Nightroad had died -- alone, a single man among the skeleton of a nuclear blasted town. There was nothing particular or special about it... he had left his small brother in the care of Mr. Kent, and then he had quietly left to wander like an animal sensing that its time was simply up.
...And then it was.
The chirping of birds outside the master bedroom window was... surreal. The softness of sheets over him, the comfort of a mattress to sleep on and warm blankets -- air, pure and untainted. The thick old-fashioned spectacles were waiting for him on the nightstand table, and he could see his drone wife's robe hung up in the same place she put it every morning, hear the clink of dishes from the kitchen that said she was making breakfast. As he sits up, the bedroom that had been smoldering rubble and debris days prior was immaculate as it had ever been, as if it had never been touched at all.
The view out the window suggests the rest of the town is the same. Hauntingly perfect; hauntingly untouched by the nuclear fallout they had borne witness to.
He reaches-- gently plucks the rosary up from where it's been rested on the nightstand beside his glasses, and pulls it up over his head. Then Abel is finding his feet, his heart beginning to pick up pace in his chest as he stands.
...It hurts. He isn't sure what he is mourning -- or if he's mourning all of it, but his cheeks are wet as he finds his way out of the bedroom to find his brother.