[size=9pt]He heard the door open and he heard her footsteps and he heard her breath when he crouched down beside the bed.
Eyes shut tight, he stared at the back of his closed eyelids and watched the obscure swirls that always formed there. You know the ones? Blues and reds and purples, vibrating shapes that flickered in and out of view on a red-black-white background. Static.
Moon. She said, and in his head, he answered. What's up, Fey. Fuck off.
I want chips and queso, She said, and he said, And I want Peri to make me her blushing bride but life isn't fuckin' fair like that, Fey.
Take me to Walmart! She said, and, seated in a far part of his brain surrounded by the multicolored swirls, he scrunched up his nose. Can't believe I raised you to think anything other than Trader Joe's is acceptable.
All of this, as the fully awake boy breathed steadily like the sleeping beauty he was pretending to be, was obviously pointing towards his reluctance to accept her request. He had shit to do tomorrow, he had to be up early, and the mere concept of an hour's sleep made his mouth water-- so, no Walmart. As much as it pained him to be the Bad Cop, he wasn't gonna' open his eyes. She could shake him all she wanted there wasn't a ch-- "Bast?"
That asshole was gonna' give in and bring her. As much as he liked to act like a cold fish, Moon knew a soft side for kids when he saw one and that guy was giving him a run for his money as the Cool Older Brother of the Observatory. "You think he's gonna' bring you? He's probably got himself shoulders deep in--" Pumbaa, not in front of the kids. "Latin literature."
So he's hesitant, and slightly cynical, but then his brain starts providing him with the many wonderful ways they can wake the dark haired boy from his slumber -- if he wasn't already, ahem, preoccupied -- and Moon's propelling himself out of the bed at lightning speed. "Fine. But only 'cause I'm cool like that. And I want Sour Patch Kids."
He stumbles through the hallways with Fey, pulling on his socks and obnoxious Rafiki slippers on the way until they're outside the Astral Seraph's door. He jiggles the handle, expecting it to be open, but when it proves anything but, he huffs a dramatic sigh and throws his eyes to the sky. "What kinda' weirdo actually uses these locks?" He says, once he's dropped to his knees with his trusty bobby pin and worked the lock with petty criminal fingers until there's a dramatic click and it slides open. Clearly chuffed with himself, the boy stands back and holds out an arm out towards the door, face stapled with a stupid, painfully sleep-deprived grin. "Witches first."
Eyes shut tight, he stared at the back of his closed eyelids and watched the obscure swirls that always formed there. You know the ones? Blues and reds and purples, vibrating shapes that flickered in and out of view on a red-black-white background. Static.
Moon. She said, and in his head, he answered. What's up, Fey. Fuck off.
I want chips and queso, She said, and he said, And I want Peri to make me her blushing bride but life isn't fuckin' fair like that, Fey.
Take me to Walmart! She said, and, seated in a far part of his brain surrounded by the multicolored swirls, he scrunched up his nose. Can't believe I raised you to think anything other than Trader Joe's is acceptable.
All of this, as the fully awake boy breathed steadily like the sleeping beauty he was pretending to be, was obviously pointing towards his reluctance to accept her request. He had shit to do tomorrow, he had to be up early, and the mere concept of an hour's sleep made his mouth water-- so, no Walmart. As much as it pained him to be the Bad Cop, he wasn't gonna' open his eyes. She could shake him all she wanted there wasn't a ch-- "Bast?"
That asshole was gonna' give in and bring her. As much as he liked to act like a cold fish, Moon knew a soft side for kids when he saw one and that guy was giving him a run for his money as the Cool Older Brother of the Observatory. "You think he's gonna' bring you? He's probably got himself shoulders deep in--" Pumbaa, not in front of the kids. "Latin literature."
So he's hesitant, and slightly cynical, but then his brain starts providing him with the many wonderful ways they can wake the dark haired boy from his slumber -- if he wasn't already, ahem, preoccupied -- and Moon's propelling himself out of the bed at lightning speed. "Fine. But only 'cause I'm cool like that. And I want Sour Patch Kids."
He stumbles through the hallways with Fey, pulling on his socks and obnoxious Rafiki slippers on the way until they're outside the Astral Seraph's door. He jiggles the handle, expecting it to be open, but when it proves anything but, he huffs a dramatic sigh and throws his eyes to the sky. "What kinda' weirdo actually uses these locks?" He says, once he's dropped to his knees with his trusty bobby pin and worked the lock with petty criminal fingers until there's a dramatic click and it slides open. Clearly chuffed with himself, the boy stands back and holds out an arm out towards the door, face stapled with a stupid, painfully sleep-deprived grin. "Witches first."
[align=center][div style="width: 500px; height: auto; text-align: center; font-family: ; font-size: 9pt; color: COLOR; letter-spacing: -.5px;"][i][b]and die like a hero going home.[glow=black,2,300]