As if the whole - vampire thing wasn't bad enough, Jason has gotten into his dumb head that he is somehow becoming a werepanther and has gone running in the darkness to prepare for the change. Or whatever.
She has no time for this.
But he is her brother and so she is here, walking through the undergrowth. Brandishing Grandpa's old shotgun.
"Jason? Come on!" she yells. "I love you, but my feet hurt, mosquitoes are eatin' me alive, and you ain't even gonna turn into a werepanther."
The night air is heavy. Oppressive.
She is doing her level best not to think about Bill. Or Eric.
"Can you hear me? You ain't gonna be a werepanther!"
A branch breaks. She spins, raising the gun, her hands damp with sweat.
And there he is.
Big, floppy haired Eric in her brother's old clothes. Pale and - Well, not alive but not dead-dead.
"How?" she asks, hardly able to believe her eyes.
"The king set me free," he answers, his voice so soft as to be almost inaudible.
Afterwards, neither will be able to say who took the first step, who leaned in. Who initiated the kiss.
But afterwards he will remember her lips moving against his skin, soft as flower petals. The scent of her skin, honey-golden and full of light. The light of the moon painting them both with light and shadow.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2017-09-30 08:32 pm (UTC)As if the whole - vampire thing wasn't bad enough, Jason has gotten into his dumb head that he is somehow becoming a werepanther and has gone running in the darkness to prepare for the change.
Or whatever.
She has no time for this.
But he is her brother and so she is here, walking through the undergrowth. Brandishing Grandpa's old shotgun.
"Jason? Come on!" she yells.
"I love you, but my feet hurt, mosquitoes are eatin' me alive, and you ain't even gonna turn into a werepanther."
The night air is heavy. Oppressive.
She is doing her level best not to think about Bill.
Or Eric.
"Can you hear me? You ain't gonna be a werepanther!"
A branch breaks.
She spins, raising the gun, her hands damp with sweat.
And there he is.
Big, floppy haired Eric in her brother's old clothes. Pale and - Well, not alive but not dead-dead.
"How?" she asks, hardly able to believe her eyes.
"The king set me free," he answers, his voice so soft as to be almost inaudible.
Afterwards, neither will be able to say who took the first step, who leaned in.
Who initiated the kiss.
But afterwards he will remember her lips moving against his skin, soft as flower petals. The scent of her skin, honey-golden and full of light. The light of the moon painting them both with light and shadow.