03-24-2017, 10:00 PM
What the fuck was suppose to happen?!
Jay was sweating as yet another streak of fire flared near his head. Nox kept telling him to do something, and Jay tried. For crying out loud, what was suppose to happen?
He grit his teeth and tossed his arm like he was pitching a baseball, but again, nothing but ridicule and looking like an ass came from it.
Water splashed his face. His feet fumbled beneath him. A pinch on his skin. Then the whisper of cool air. His arms pebbled with goosebumps as he turned to swat at something he couldn't see. Nox was taunting him, talking about patterns and colors. Jay's narrow gaze darted, searching for something, but fuck if he knew what was going on.
Finally, something like a warm blanket wrapped around him, or maybe it was more like dunking into a hot tub. His cheeks flushed and he gasped like it was painful even though it really wasn't. It was like waking from a dream in a panic but not remembering why. He went still. It was right there. If he just closed his eyes and focused. Shapes were there, buildings, tall and ominious like shadowy skyscrapers. Open fields. The heat of spent cartridges and smell of hot oil.
Something grabbed his shoulder and Jay spun, clamped down on a forearm and flipped the attached body to the floor. With his knee burrowed into the man's shoulder, he held onto a loose shirt. Now that he looked the kid in the face, he knew he didn't need to draw his knife. Course, in the marines, you react first and ask questions later. True to training, he didn't withdraw, but instead he examined every detail, every fleck of color, every vessel in the kid's eyes. They drew him in like he'd never seen eyes before.
Yet in his heart, he knew the kid was no threat. Nox had him on edge. That warm blanket had him on edge. Like relaxed danger. Fires, wizards, monsters and girls. The fog soon faded from his gaze, and he shook his head, releasing the kid and lifting away. As he climbed to his feet, a slow thought formed.
He looked at his hands, oblivious to Nox, the kid, and -- was that a dog?
He blinked as he watched the knife fade into thin air. He was in civilian clothes. He wasn't armed. There never was a knife.
He looked at Nox as he realized what happened. "Guess you're not full of shit after all."
He grinned, but it was one of disbelief suspended, of fate coalescing.
Jay was sweating as yet another streak of fire flared near his head. Nox kept telling him to do something, and Jay tried. For crying out loud, what was suppose to happen?
He grit his teeth and tossed his arm like he was pitching a baseball, but again, nothing but ridicule and looking like an ass came from it.
Water splashed his face. His feet fumbled beneath him. A pinch on his skin. Then the whisper of cool air. His arms pebbled with goosebumps as he turned to swat at something he couldn't see. Nox was taunting him, talking about patterns and colors. Jay's narrow gaze darted, searching for something, but fuck if he knew what was going on.
Finally, something like a warm blanket wrapped around him, or maybe it was more like dunking into a hot tub. His cheeks flushed and he gasped like it was painful even though it really wasn't. It was like waking from a dream in a panic but not remembering why. He went still. It was right there. If he just closed his eyes and focused. Shapes were there, buildings, tall and ominious like shadowy skyscrapers. Open fields. The heat of spent cartridges and smell of hot oil.
Something grabbed his shoulder and Jay spun, clamped down on a forearm and flipped the attached body to the floor. With his knee burrowed into the man's shoulder, he held onto a loose shirt. Now that he looked the kid in the face, he knew he didn't need to draw his knife. Course, in the marines, you react first and ask questions later. True to training, he didn't withdraw, but instead he examined every detail, every fleck of color, every vessel in the kid's eyes. They drew him in like he'd never seen eyes before.
Yet in his heart, he knew the kid was no threat. Nox had him on edge. That warm blanket had him on edge. Like relaxed danger. Fires, wizards, monsters and girls. The fog soon faded from his gaze, and he shook his head, releasing the kid and lifting away. As he climbed to his feet, a slow thought formed.
He looked at his hands, oblivious to Nox, the kid, and -- was that a dog?
He blinked as he watched the knife fade into thin air. He was in civilian clothes. He wasn't armed. There never was a knife.
He looked at Nox as he realized what happened. "Guess you're not full of shit after all."
He grinned, but it was one of disbelief suspended, of fate coalescing.
Only darkness shows you the light.