(no subject)

[bprd_agent_red]

It was dark, and cold, and he was lost... so lost. And then--

It's over, the battle won. The abandoned building is gone, along with the influence of its maker.

He'd been lying in the rubble he'd fallen with, half buried in stone and splintered wood. Now he's laying on his side by the lake shore in a patch of rushes, his legs in the water, his eyes closed.

He still has the horns of Anung Un Rama, but the crown of fire is gone, and his stone hand is cold now, no longer glowing with fire from within.

Comments

[walking_napalm]

Their slow, unsteady trudge toward the bar gives Liz plenty of time to think about where they're going (I'm ready to go home, he'd said), as much as she really just wants to focus on left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot.

When they've almost reached the back door, she says, "Just a little farther, okay? The infirmary's close."

[bprd_agent_red]

He keeps his head down, watching his feet to make sure they keep moving one in front of the other, and that he doesn't step on her.

Lifting his head, he sees they've reached the bar, and is silently grateful.

"I'd rather have a beer and a smoke," he says, cracking a thin smile.

He almost asks about going home again, then thinks of the horns. Maybe it is better if they stay here.

Getting through the door is tricky, but they manage and continue on to the infirmary.

[walking_napalm]

Liz half-smiles at the crack, quick and not entirely mirthful, and says, "Later," as they drag through the bar and into the back hallway.