antinouswild (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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sirenspull_logs2013-01-06 06:13 pm
antinouswild) wrote in sirenspull_logs2013-01-06 06:13 pm
Backtagging a late night
Who: Magneto and Enjolras
What: Two sleepless souls and a late night
When: After the gift exchange but before Grantaire's arrival
Where: House of Awesome, Kitchen, Zero Dark Thirty
Warnings: Discussion of nightmares, PTS, battle scars, survival guilt, and other deaths... FUN FOR ALL AGES!
Enjolras sits bolt upright in the bed.
He's acutely aware that it's never his own death, it's never standing against the wall, facing his own executioners that does this to him. His neck itches as tendrils of blonde hair stick to the sweat, and his breath comes hard and ragged.
It's never his own death. Not once has he ever dreamed of that.
Seeing his friends, comrades... no, that's wrong. Seeing his brothers cut down one by one as the barricades feel. That is what keeps him in fevered dreams. The sheets are twisted around his legs, and he fumbles gracelessly as he fights his way off of the futon.
Water... maybe milk... Just anything to be up and doing something. He's dimly aware that it's an instinct to leave that's driving him out of the room, rather than hunger or thirst.
Barefoot he walks down the hallway to the common kitchen in the HoA. The pajamas he's acquired he found to be too short. But, the ones that were long enough were too wide in chest and hips, and bunched around him and made him hot as he slept. So he stood with his feet bare and his wrists and ankles well exposed.
Then, light. He almost blinks at it, coming out of the darkened bedroom and hallway. The sound of cooking... dishes moving, utensils striking, seem a little comforting, and he feels some small relief that he is not alone.
"Excuse me?"
What: Two sleepless souls and a late night
When: After the gift exchange but before Grantaire's arrival
Where: House of Awesome, Kitchen, Zero Dark Thirty
Warnings: Discussion of nightmares, PTS, battle scars, survival guilt, and other deaths... FUN FOR ALL AGES!
Enjolras sits bolt upright in the bed.
He's acutely aware that it's never his own death, it's never standing against the wall, facing his own executioners that does this to him. His neck itches as tendrils of blonde hair stick to the sweat, and his breath comes hard and ragged.
It's never his own death. Not once has he ever dreamed of that.
Seeing his friends, comrades... no, that's wrong. Seeing his brothers cut down one by one as the barricades feel. That is what keeps him in fevered dreams. The sheets are twisted around his legs, and he fumbles gracelessly as he fights his way off of the futon.
Water... maybe milk... Just anything to be up and doing something. He's dimly aware that it's an instinct to leave that's driving him out of the room, rather than hunger or thirst.
Barefoot he walks down the hallway to the common kitchen in the HoA. The pajamas he's acquired he found to be too short. But, the ones that were long enough were too wide in chest and hips, and bunched around him and made him hot as he slept. So he stood with his feet bare and his wrists and ankles well exposed.
Then, light. He almost blinks at it, coming out of the darkened bedroom and hallway. The sound of cooking... dishes moving, utensils striking, seem a little comforting, and he feels some small relief that he is not alone.
"Excuse me?"
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