08-21-2013, 11:22 AM
So they sleep.
Serafíne, see, she crawls back into the warm hollow she vacated moments ago to greet Sid, to collect that hug, to open the door, and then close it again. The house, we have mentioned, is quiet. So is the night. The sheet-and-duvet are arranged with rather more precision than they ever would be were Sera sleeping along. She tends to burrow. She leaves the thing in a mound slightly off center from the middle of the bed so that in daylight it is piled up like half-hidden nest of some small mammal, or lumped like there may still be a human body hidden somewhere beneath the folds.
Sometimes there is.
It is: still Tuesday night-Wednesday morning. The sun's someone on the other side of the horizon. Dawn will come soon enough but even the earliest of the morning birds are not up yet to herald its arrival.
Lena is in that hospital waiting room and is now either mostly forgotten by the staff or worse: deemed unimportant. Not-a-relative, and therefore outside-the-scope of things like need-to-know. Shoshannah may have joined her by now, for the long, tense vigil which will be fruitless. No surgeon will come to see them; they are marooned in the null space of the waiting area.
Sera settles on her right side. Back to the windows and the moonlight and the barely-touched bottle of Scotch and the lowball glance, a finger or so of water from the melted ice cube. Spine against Hawksley's chest, his arm over her torso, Sid's forehead against her own, their breath mingling. Close. Closer really than Sera would have guessed or imagined but Sera in these hours is guessing not at all and imagining little beyond what might be happening a few miles away, in a very different room where Francisco Echeverría is in surgery: bright lights, gloved hands, and cold, sterile instruments. Masked strangers casting their shadows against the walls of the dedicated rooms or perhaps his not-precisely-sleeping, not-really-awake mind.
Nothing like that here.
Exhausted, Sid falls asleep first.
Sera makes a quiet, back-of-the-throat noise, an unvoiced exhalation, which is shaped in her throat like an abbrievated laugh and sounds like letting go. "Out like a light," she murmurs, to Hawksley. Echo and memory of something the priest promised her once: a full night's sleep, uninterrupted by shadow and shade.
She is so, so tired.
And soon she follows. Slips into the drowning deep sleep of hers from which she can hardly be roused, and sleeps and sleeps and sleeps and sleeps and sleeps. First star on the right, and straight on 'til morning, and well after.
[OOC:
wanted to leave it at kai's last post but then figured I should post again. Thank you all for a great scene/scene-ish arc of scenes!]
Serafíne, see, she crawls back into the warm hollow she vacated moments ago to greet Sid, to collect that hug, to open the door, and then close it again. The house, we have mentioned, is quiet. So is the night. The sheet-and-duvet are arranged with rather more precision than they ever would be were Sera sleeping along. She tends to burrow. She leaves the thing in a mound slightly off center from the middle of the bed so that in daylight it is piled up like half-hidden nest of some small mammal, or lumped like there may still be a human body hidden somewhere beneath the folds.
Sometimes there is.
It is: still Tuesday night-Wednesday morning. The sun's someone on the other side of the horizon. Dawn will come soon enough but even the earliest of the morning birds are not up yet to herald its arrival.
Lena is in that hospital waiting room and is now either mostly forgotten by the staff or worse: deemed unimportant. Not-a-relative, and therefore outside-the-scope of things like need-to-know. Shoshannah may have joined her by now, for the long, tense vigil which will be fruitless. No surgeon will come to see them; they are marooned in the null space of the waiting area.
Sera settles on her right side. Back to the windows and the moonlight and the barely-touched bottle of Scotch and the lowball glance, a finger or so of water from the melted ice cube. Spine against Hawksley's chest, his arm over her torso, Sid's forehead against her own, their breath mingling. Close. Closer really than Sera would have guessed or imagined but Sera in these hours is guessing not at all and imagining little beyond what might be happening a few miles away, in a very different room where Francisco Echeverría is in surgery: bright lights, gloved hands, and cold, sterile instruments. Masked strangers casting their shadows against the walls of the dedicated rooms or perhaps his not-precisely-sleeping, not-really-awake mind.
Nothing like that here.
Exhausted, Sid falls asleep first.
Sera makes a quiet, back-of-the-throat noise, an unvoiced exhalation, which is shaped in her throat like an abbrievated laugh and sounds like letting go. "Out like a light," she murmurs, to Hawksley. Echo and memory of something the priest promised her once: a full night's sleep, uninterrupted by shadow and shade.
She is so, so tired.
And soon she follows. Slips into the drowning deep sleep of hers from which she can hardly be roused, and sleeps and sleeps and sleeps and sleeps and sleeps. First star on the right, and straight on 'til morning, and well after.
[OOC:
wanted to leave it at kai's last post but then figured I should post again. Thank you all for a great scene/scene-ish arc of scenes!]
But my heart is wild and my bones are steel
And I could kill you with my bare hands if I was free.
- Phosphorescent, Song for Zula
And I could kill you with my bare hands if I was free.
- Phosphorescent, Song for Zula