01-17-2014, 09:58 PM
Tony's sleep was dreamless, as it was so often in these episodes. Dreamless, painless, numb.
When he awoke, it was as if he had blinked and the world changed. Had it not been for the memory of exhaustion and the slow fading of consciousness - along with years of experiencing the phenomena - he would scarcely believe he had lost five hours of his life.
He did not open his eyes immediately, allowing the other senses to recover. He smiled at the pillow beneath his head. He had endured much worse sleeping conditions, living among the sewer rats and the more virulent pests of humanity, but it was a nice gesture.
He opened his mind and seized the power, which came easily to him now that the episode was over and finally opened his eyes. The burst of full colour and clarity did not burn as it would if he had a hangover, it was a welcome, familiar sensation that calmed his mind, so distant from pain and uncertainty.
At last he mustered the desire to first sit, stretching his arms and legs, then stand. To his surprise, Claire had not run, and had indeed made herself at home - earning another small smile.
Before she could ask, Tony explained. "No need to worry, I'm quite alright."
That said with a teasing grin. Perhaps she was not quite the hardened rebellious image she portrayed. He had heard her anxious calling before he slipped into unconsciousness. Then he remembered the cool, confident tone with which she spoke of destiny, which sobered his mirth.
Strange indeed, there was more to Claire than met the eye, he suspected. Just as it was with Michael, as if they were fighting with something deep in their minds, ingrained but aloof.
A thought for another time.
At the moment, Tony needed food. He spoke as he moved into the kitchen and begun preparing an old Russian broth his grandparents had taught him. "An old scar,"
he continued. "A constant reminder of the dangers of experimenting with this power we hold. A...comrade... tried to heal me, but it backfired. Perhaps it may kill me someday - I don't know what it did exactly - but it is something that happens from time to time."
He did not want to sound as if he were warning her, but inevitably he slipped into the form of a mentor, the only role he had played in years; apart from a drunkard. "I feel much better now. Perhaps I can show you a thing or two, if you still want my help?
" To emphasise the point he wove Fire and Air, brining the broth to boiling point without having turned the stove on.
When he awoke, it was as if he had blinked and the world changed. Had it not been for the memory of exhaustion and the slow fading of consciousness - along with years of experiencing the phenomena - he would scarcely believe he had lost five hours of his life.
He did not open his eyes immediately, allowing the other senses to recover. He smiled at the pillow beneath his head. He had endured much worse sleeping conditions, living among the sewer rats and the more virulent pests of humanity, but it was a nice gesture.
He opened his mind and seized the power, which came easily to him now that the episode was over and finally opened his eyes. The burst of full colour and clarity did not burn as it would if he had a hangover, it was a welcome, familiar sensation that calmed his mind, so distant from pain and uncertainty.
At last he mustered the desire to first sit, stretching his arms and legs, then stand. To his surprise, Claire had not run, and had indeed made herself at home - earning another small smile.
Before she could ask, Tony explained. "No need to worry, I'm quite alright."
That said with a teasing grin. Perhaps she was not quite the hardened rebellious image she portrayed. He had heard her anxious calling before he slipped into unconsciousness. Then he remembered the cool, confident tone with which she spoke of destiny, which sobered his mirth.
Strange indeed, there was more to Claire than met the eye, he suspected. Just as it was with Michael, as if they were fighting with something deep in their minds, ingrained but aloof.
A thought for another time.
At the moment, Tony needed food. He spoke as he moved into the kitchen and begun preparing an old Russian broth his grandparents had taught him. "An old scar,"
he continued. "A constant reminder of the dangers of experimenting with this power we hold. A...comrade... tried to heal me, but it backfired. Perhaps it may kill me someday - I don't know what it did exactly - but it is something that happens from time to time."
He did not want to sound as if he were warning her, but inevitably he slipped into the form of a mentor, the only role he had played in years; apart from a drunkard. "I feel much better now. Perhaps I can show you a thing or two, if you still want my help?
" To emphasise the point he wove Fire and Air, brining the broth to boiling point without having turned the stove on.