[Deaths] Eduard De'Ath
Title: wake up
'Verse/characters: Deaths; Eduard, Julian De'Ath
Prompt: 91A "out of focus"
Word Count: 365
Notes: on campaign.
"You're lucky the Morrigan likes you," his niece remarked, waking him abruptly from dreamless motionless sleep.
"Am I?" he replied automatically, opening his eyes. The ceiling was unfamiliar, its edge defined with blurred crown molding that might be poor construction. When he sat up and it felt like the front of his skull was going to fall off, he revised his opinion on the molding to 'something wrong with my eyes'.
"Indeed," Julian murmured, and she was sprawled in an armchair nearby, pose so much an echo of something her father would have done that it made his headache worse. "If she didn't she'd be wearing your power wrapped 'round her neck like a set of royal diamonds and probably high as a kite from the rush."
"What happened?" He refrained from the curses he would have added normally, hissing as something in his chest started burning.
"One of Kali's got in a lucky shot--literally, the First thinks they used a shard of some poor dead soul's sword to make a bullet strong enough to damage one of us--and you went down like a ton of bricks. She was closest, both to you and the gunman." She sat up somewhat, draped her arms along the sides of the chair instead of the back. "Azrael was the one downed 'im--the Morrigan was too busy keeping you from getting swarmed. I don't think I've ever seen her angry before," she finished, meditatively. "Annoyed, certainly, but not angry."
He raised an eyebrow, swung his legs out of the bed to rest them on the floor, leaned down to rest his elbows on his knees, looked at his niece. "Where were you?"
"Going through their command with a scythe," she told him matter of factly, "just like you told me to try to do."
"Ah," he said, then frowned. "How long was I out?"
"You were technically dead for a week, and then just sleeping the last three days. Incidentally," and God she sounded like her father, "watching someone dig a bullet out of your chest is not going to be my favourite memory of this year."
"My apologies," he replied automatically as he straightened his spine, then rubbed at his chest, a little rueful. "I'll try not to do it again."
'Verse/characters: Deaths; Eduard, Julian De'Ath
Prompt: 91A "out of focus"
Word Count: 365
Notes: on campaign.
"You're lucky the Morrigan likes you," his niece remarked, waking him abruptly from dreamless motionless sleep.
"Am I?" he replied automatically, opening his eyes. The ceiling was unfamiliar, its edge defined with blurred crown molding that might be poor construction. When he sat up and it felt like the front of his skull was going to fall off, he revised his opinion on the molding to 'something wrong with my eyes'.
"Indeed," Julian murmured, and she was sprawled in an armchair nearby, pose so much an echo of something her father would have done that it made his headache worse. "If she didn't she'd be wearing your power wrapped 'round her neck like a set of royal diamonds and probably high as a kite from the rush."
"What happened?" He refrained from the curses he would have added normally, hissing as something in his chest started burning.
"One of Kali's got in a lucky shot--literally, the First thinks they used a shard of some poor dead soul's sword to make a bullet strong enough to damage one of us--and you went down like a ton of bricks. She was closest, both to you and the gunman." She sat up somewhat, draped her arms along the sides of the chair instead of the back. "Azrael was the one downed 'im--the Morrigan was too busy keeping you from getting swarmed. I don't think I've ever seen her angry before," she finished, meditatively. "Annoyed, certainly, but not angry."
He raised an eyebrow, swung his legs out of the bed to rest them on the floor, leaned down to rest his elbows on his knees, looked at his niece. "Where were you?"
"Going through their command with a scythe," she told him matter of factly, "just like you told me to try to do."
"Ah," he said, then frowned. "How long was I out?"
"You were technically dead for a week, and then just sleeping the last three days. Incidentally," and God she sounded like her father, "watching someone dig a bullet out of your chest is not going to be my favourite memory of this year."
"My apologies," he replied automatically as he straightened his spine, then rubbed at his chest, a little rueful. "I'll try not to do it again."