08-21-2013, 06:46 AM
Sweat glued his shirt to every angle of his chest. Half moons dug four white lines into his palms. His hands were quivering with fatigue.
Then suddenly the floor dropped out from under him. His face, already white, paled with immense worry. For a brief moment, Jaxen was gaunt and aged, sick with fury to have discovered something so obscene one moment and have it ripped away the next. He was grappling, clawing at whatever was there, on the cusp of pounding his fists bloody against the trap. But in a flash, the barrier overhead disappeared, and he surfaced, a drowning man gasping for glorious air. That he was flooded with relief of the power's return was an understatement.
"That's enough for now."
He opened his eyes slowly. His gaze directed dead at Tony, daring him to tell him what to do. He held the Power for a second longer. The final burst of will over it lidded the storm he commanded to a dull simmer. Then the sprint of dominion passed and Jaxen's deathhold loosened. The power left him, but for that final push of exertion, he was stronger for it.
He slumped, panting. Himself once more. Head thrown back with exhaustion, he stared at the ceiling while the two men continued their explanations, but his mind was barely tuned to their words. The important part sunk in, though. He wasn't going to die. That, and, he really was kind of an impressive bastard, wasn't he? Jax almost grinned at the thought.
Michael left amid cryptic instructions. The sort of keywords that scratched at the back of Jaxen's mind hovered on the air, and he thought about the strange building on Nikolskaya street, the vultures that followed him after, and the guy whose throat was ripped out by Sicko. But until Jaxen was clearer on a few details, and had a nap, he'd bring it up later.
Finally, Tony started talking some sense. "Another drink. Hell yes."
Tony tossed him a bottle and Jax drank straight from it. Screw the limes and ice. Though that little floating through the air trick would have been handy right then.
He eventually fell asleep sitting up right there on the couch, empty bottle wedged between his leg and a cushion. When he woke, it was the middle of the night. Or maybe the middle of the next night. More cereal bowls were stacked on the floor beside the couch, evidence of 'meals' Jaxen barely recalled shoveling down. His back ached of being beaten by bricks; shitty couch springs.
He sat up and stumbled to a bathroom to take a leak. Half way there, he realized he was only wearing a pair of briefs--Gucci at that. That gave him a moment's pause. He definitely didn't remember stripping down any time in the last thirty-six hours, but it did seem like the kind of thing he'd do.
He shrugged and slammed the door behind him, swearing to himself that there better be some coffee around this shithole.
Then suddenly the floor dropped out from under him. His face, already white, paled with immense worry. For a brief moment, Jaxen was gaunt and aged, sick with fury to have discovered something so obscene one moment and have it ripped away the next. He was grappling, clawing at whatever was there, on the cusp of pounding his fists bloody against the trap. But in a flash, the barrier overhead disappeared, and he surfaced, a drowning man gasping for glorious air. That he was flooded with relief of the power's return was an understatement.
"That's enough for now."
He opened his eyes slowly. His gaze directed dead at Tony, daring him to tell him what to do. He held the Power for a second longer. The final burst of will over it lidded the storm he commanded to a dull simmer. Then the sprint of dominion passed and Jaxen's deathhold loosened. The power left him, but for that final push of exertion, he was stronger for it.
He slumped, panting. Himself once more. Head thrown back with exhaustion, he stared at the ceiling while the two men continued their explanations, but his mind was barely tuned to their words. The important part sunk in, though. He wasn't going to die. That, and, he really was kind of an impressive bastard, wasn't he? Jax almost grinned at the thought.
Michael left amid cryptic instructions. The sort of keywords that scratched at the back of Jaxen's mind hovered on the air, and he thought about the strange building on Nikolskaya street, the vultures that followed him after, and the guy whose throat was ripped out by Sicko. But until Jaxen was clearer on a few details, and had a nap, he'd bring it up later.
Finally, Tony started talking some sense. "Another drink. Hell yes."
Tony tossed him a bottle and Jax drank straight from it. Screw the limes and ice. Though that little floating through the air trick would have been handy right then.
He eventually fell asleep sitting up right there on the couch, empty bottle wedged between his leg and a cushion. When he woke, it was the middle of the night. Or maybe the middle of the next night. More cereal bowls were stacked on the floor beside the couch, evidence of 'meals' Jaxen barely recalled shoveling down. His back ached of being beaten by bricks; shitty couch springs.
He sat up and stumbled to a bathroom to take a leak. Half way there, he realized he was only wearing a pair of briefs--Gucci at that. That gave him a moment's pause. He definitely didn't remember stripping down any time in the last thirty-six hours, but it did seem like the kind of thing he'd do.
He shrugged and slammed the door behind him, swearing to himself that there better be some coffee around this shithole.