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first blueprint
Jul. 31st, 2019 05:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
takeitsleazy[he'd had plenty of advance notice about the moon: first from Merlin, then from Hades, and then, the previous evening, from that strange little bird. he didn't know what to expect, but whatever it was, he knew that whatever gave him his power - and his guess was his Eternal nature - was going to be weakened even more than it already had been.
he had to prepare.
so he'd spent part of his first paycheck on something very, very important. a hoodie. on a whim, he'd also grabbed a few other things: some snacks, a few books, and a box of paper clips.
he manages to make it home to his apartment before the sun starts to set, and feels pretty positive and confident about this whole thing. he lines the books up on the coffee table, and puts the snacks which require refridgeration in the kitchen. but as the sun sinks, so does his mood. suddenly, everything starts to look daunting. strange. larger, somehow. something inside him begins to wind up into knots, turning and churning, creating sea changes. what's happening? he doesn't know. but he's --
-- oh. frightened. great. he tries to pace it away, but that only makes the knots worse. soon his stomach hurts, and even glancing at the junk food is a bad idea. he retreats to the bathroom, where he shucks off his suit coat and dress shirt, pulling on the hoodie to stare at himself in the mirror. He tries to will even just his eyes to look the way they really do. Nothing. Not even a faint glimmer. Just ice blue and floating black, wide and human and scared.
Michael pulls the strings tight on the hood, making its tiny little round black ears stand up, and retreats back to the couch, falling over on it sideways. His 3M slides out of the pocket of his pants, and he stands it up against a few of the books to look into it]
[just. staring. congratulations. he's on a couch full of emotion.]
he had to prepare.
so he'd spent part of his first paycheck on something very, very important. a hoodie. on a whim, he'd also grabbed a few other things: some snacks, a few books, and a box of paper clips.
he manages to make it home to his apartment before the sun starts to set, and feels pretty positive and confident about this whole thing. he lines the books up on the coffee table, and puts the snacks which require refridgeration in the kitchen. but as the sun sinks, so does his mood. suddenly, everything starts to look daunting. strange. larger, somehow. something inside him begins to wind up into knots, turning and churning, creating sea changes. what's happening? he doesn't know. but he's --
-- oh. frightened. great. he tries to pace it away, but that only makes the knots worse. soon his stomach hurts, and even glancing at the junk food is a bad idea. he retreats to the bathroom, where he shucks off his suit coat and dress shirt, pulling on the hoodie to stare at himself in the mirror. He tries to will even just his eyes to look the way they really do. Nothing. Not even a faint glimmer. Just ice blue and floating black, wide and human and scared.
Michael pulls the strings tight on the hood, making its tiny little round black ears stand up, and retreats back to the couch, falling over on it sideways. His 3M slides out of the pocket of his pants, and he stands it up against a few of the books to look into it]
[just. staring. congratulations. he's on a couch full of emotion.]
