Hector (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
defieddracula) wrote2018-11-04 12:01 pm
defieddracula) wrote2018-11-04 12:01 pm
ONE | No Rest for the Wicked
[Locked to Isaac]
[Hector rolled onto his side, staring wearily at the slivers of moonlight creeping around the edges of the loft's curtained window. He hadn't missed these sleepless nights.
His limbs were leaden, and the demons' whispers had been distant or nonexistent, oddly enough, yet his thoughts still turned like gears in a well-oiled clockwork. Unlike spring and summer, winter came swiftly in the mountains. He'd done much to prepare and had so much more to tend before the snow and bitter cold herded game into the valleys, froze the nearby streams, and choked virtually all vegetation in the region. He needed to finish building his greenhouse and charm it against the cold. There were seeds to be gathered and sown, plants to preserve, and miscellaneous supplies to be bought in town. Wood to chop. Hunting and fishing to be done...
He scrubbed his dry, burning eyes. By the time the snows fell, he'd have many more sleepless nights, and none of them would be so quiet. He rarely worked his magic nowadays. Hunting and bartering and minor construction, those he could easily manage on his own, but if he wanted the greenhouse finished -- and to withstand the winter -- he needed his powers. He'd deal with the unfortunate, but necessary consequences.
Gideon shifted on the ground floor below, the corpsey's skeletal joints clicking and creaking as it readied its sword; demonic energy crashed over Hector. Rosaly's pendant stung his chest, and he drew it from inside his woolen shirt. He didn't need to follow his familiar's gaze into the rafters to know they had a visitor.
All at once, his thoughts shifted from surviving winter to wondering why Isaac had come unannounced at such a late hour. And what he was doing on the roof, of all places.
Swinging his robe around his shoulders, he motioned for Gideon to open the door and descended the ladder.]
[Hector rolled onto his side, staring wearily at the slivers of moonlight creeping around the edges of the loft's curtained window. He hadn't missed these sleepless nights.
His limbs were leaden, and the demons' whispers had been distant or nonexistent, oddly enough, yet his thoughts still turned like gears in a well-oiled clockwork. Unlike spring and summer, winter came swiftly in the mountains. He'd done much to prepare and had so much more to tend before the snow and bitter cold herded game into the valleys, froze the nearby streams, and choked virtually all vegetation in the region. He needed to finish building his greenhouse and charm it against the cold. There were seeds to be gathered and sown, plants to preserve, and miscellaneous supplies to be bought in town. Wood to chop. Hunting and fishing to be done...
He scrubbed his dry, burning eyes. By the time the snows fell, he'd have many more sleepless nights, and none of them would be so quiet. He rarely worked his magic nowadays. Hunting and bartering and minor construction, those he could easily manage on his own, but if he wanted the greenhouse finished -- and to withstand the winter -- he needed his powers. He'd deal with the unfortunate, but necessary consequences.
Gideon shifted on the ground floor below, the corpsey's skeletal joints clicking and creaking as it readied its sword; demonic energy crashed over Hector. Rosaly's pendant stung his chest, and he drew it from inside his woolen shirt. He didn't need to follow his familiar's gaze into the rafters to know they had a visitor.
All at once, his thoughts shifted from surviving winter to wondering why Isaac had come unannounced at such a late hour. And what he was doing on the roof, of all places.
Swinging his robe around his shoulders, he motioned for Gideon to open the door and descended the ladder.]