(no subject)
[ OOM: Space in Objects. In which Jubal Early learns how to appreciate the substance of things, rather terminally.]
The front door opens onto a silent, sepulchral gloom. There's illumination there, dim and dust-filtered, but to eyes accustomed to the bar's bright lights it's all a dark haze.
Three figures emerge. Meg first: face pale and set below the white layer of marble dust that covers her. A few scratches score her face and arms, and she holds herself with rigid poise.
River, next. Unharmed, only her feet and the palms of her hands grey with dust. Her face is alight with contentment -- those who know her well may read satisfaction there, too.
Lucifer last. A smirk plays around his lips; his face is unreadable beneath it. He slips into the shadows of the bar, and... well, perhaps he's gone. Perhaps you just aren't looking hard enough for smoldering eyes and lazy bare feet in the dim corners of the room.
Four went through the door, but of Jubal Early there is no sign.
The door closes with a soft, final click.
The front door opens onto a silent, sepulchral gloom. There's illumination there, dim and dust-filtered, but to eyes accustomed to the bar's bright lights it's all a dark haze.
Three figures emerge. Meg first: face pale and set below the white layer of marble dust that covers her. A few scratches score her face and arms, and she holds herself with rigid poise.
River, next. Unharmed, only her feet and the palms of her hands grey with dust. Her face is alight with contentment -- those who know her well may read satisfaction there, too.
Lucifer last. A smirk plays around his lips; his face is unreadable beneath it. He slips into the shadows of the bar, and... well, perhaps he's gone. Perhaps you just aren't looking hard enough for smoldering eyes and lazy bare feet in the dim corners of the room.
Four went through the door, but of Jubal Early there is no sign.
The door closes with a soft, final click.