[ His smile folds away. So much for wishful thinking.
An eye to the hall, but he picked this room to purpose: Ears above to hear a scream, and none to hear anything else. He gestures at the door — go on, then — fits key to lock.
(That'll never stop being strange, the shape of it in his palm. Cold against skin.) ]
Shut the window, there's a fireplace.
[ And more cigarettes. Maker, he looks like shit.
The door creaks open, Isaac doesn't stop to check he's been followed. It's tidier than the sprawl of his Infirmary table, as deliberately ordered as the chaos below must be. Someone's dragged off the second bed, the resulting space far too large for its scant possessions. A trunk, a desk. Candles.
The brush of a hand catches them alight, aid for the dim sun rising through its own, narrow glass. (No bars, and that's strange too.) He doesn't look back to sling down his bag, set to routine. Silence fills its own expectation: What is it? ]
no subject
An eye to the hall, but he picked this room to purpose: Ears above to hear a scream, and none to hear anything else. He gestures at the door — go on, then — fits key to lock.
(That'll never stop being strange, the shape of it in his palm. Cold against skin.) ]
Shut the window, there's a fireplace.
[ And more cigarettes. Maker, he looks like shit.
The door creaks open, Isaac doesn't stop to check he's been followed. It's tidier than the sprawl of his Infirmary table, as deliberately ordered as the chaos below must be. Someone's dragged off the second bed, the resulting space far too large for its scant possessions. A trunk, a desk. Candles.
The brush of a hand catches them alight, aid for the dim sun rising through its own, narrow glass. (No bars, and that's strange too.) He doesn't look back to sling down his bag, set to routine. Silence fills its own expectation: What is it? ]