to the little room with the broken faucets

[forzare]

Who: Harry Dresden & John Marcone.
When: The morning after this mess.
Where: The Tower Apartments.
Summary: John finally comes back.
Warnings: Maybe language. Will update as necessary.


The thing about the Darkness? It's the biggest legitimate threat he's met, this side of the Queen of Air and Darkness herself. Irony abounds. The warnings, helpful words and chill that permeates the night had forced him to retreat. The blow to his ego was expected, but still hard. It meant he couldn't go out there, it meant he had to entrust that the vanilla mortal he'd arrived with would fare better. Be smarter, wiser, more resourceful. Things that John Marcone was, without a doubt.

Even still, Marcone was his only tie to home, to Chicago and matters left behind and unsettled and on the edge of total breakdown.

Harry didn't sleep at all, perched on the edge of his bed in their apartment, worrying at anything and everything he could get his hands on. Resisting the urge to fire off another string of tempestuous and freakishly frantic messages to his companion. He did not do waiting well, that was for sure. Paranoid practitioners tended to think on the side of "potentially catastrophic" or "worse-case scenario". It leaves him twitchy and agitated, watching the apartment door with the air of someone about to lunge out the moment morning broke.

For that matter - it was.

Comments

[forzare]

And whoosh, right over the top of his head. Harry misses the point, and the point lets out a faint whee as it sails off into the distance and the wizard doesn't seem to be concentrating on putting two-and-two together. He's living in a little bower of ignorance. It's safer there.

"Ha ha," Harry mutters, closing his fingers around the hairs carefully. That was one problem down. At least now he'd be able to track Marcone down, in case there was a Situation like the one just now. It put him at relative ease - the idea of doing something unwholesome or unsavory with it simply did not occur to him. For starters, Harry wasn't the sort who pulled covert assassinations. He was a student of the school "you'll be awake, you'll be facing me, and you'll be armed". A painfully noble trait, and not the most intelligent when dealing with a man as cunning as Marcone.

"Go get some sleep," he finally replies, and glances up - almost ready to say something more. Instead, Harry just flaps a hand and wanders off towards their battered couch to crash for an hour or two.

[freeholding]

Already, John can see something calm in Dresden. He has the token he wants and it was paid for, in his mind. It is as much a relief for John; living in close quarters with Dresden has not been the smoothest process, and has required no small amount of handling.

This has perhaps been handling the wizard as well, but that's fine. Anything so they don't have to replace any more lightbulbs. And the quite reassurance that should he fall, Dresden will at least know... it's worth the hair.

"Sleep well," John says, and excuses himself to his room, closing the door behind him and at last going to bed.