AU: Dawn at Belvedere Castle
Dec. 16th, 2008 10:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
At first, there's barely a sound, barely a speck of color among the shadows of the deceptively old structure. Not anything remarkable about the place, except for its location, perhaps. The air is crisp, the ground is slippery, ice covered in snow covered in more ice. Layers upon layers of white fluff and a concussion just waiting to happen should you forget to watch your step.
He's always liked snow. Especially now, when his eyes are closed and his senses are focused outward; every little snowflake is like a peck on the cheek or the ear or the back of his neck. He remembers the first winter on Earth, he kept imagining the snowflakes were fairies - tiny little darlings dancing in the air only to become it if they ever touched you. Evaporating, melting... It's an end he wouldn't wish on anyone.
Slowly, softly, color seeps into the world, between the cracks. Yellow tones, orange and ochre battling against the dark in an eternal war.
It's beautiful. It gives him hope. The world didn't end tonight. It's just begun anew. Turned a new leaf, if you will.
He opens his eyes, the warmth reflecting in the red of his irises. Maybe today, he can turn a new leaf too. Maybe it isn't too late.
Maybe there's hope for him yet.
He's always liked snow. Especially now, when his eyes are closed and his senses are focused outward; every little snowflake is like a peck on the cheek or the ear or the back of his neck. He remembers the first winter on Earth, he kept imagining the snowflakes were fairies - tiny little darlings dancing in the air only to become it if they ever touched you. Evaporating, melting... It's an end he wouldn't wish on anyone.
Slowly, softly, color seeps into the world, between the cracks. Yellow tones, orange and ochre battling against the dark in an eternal war.
It's beautiful. It gives him hope. The world didn't end tonight. It's just begun anew. Turned a new leaf, if you will.
He opens his eyes, the warmth reflecting in the red of his irises. Maybe today, he can turn a new leaf too. Maybe it isn't too late.
Maybe there's hope for him yet.
no subject
Date: 2008-12-20 11:19 pm (UTC)It's a slippery slope he's on, he can feel it, and it's getting colder by the minute. Got to figure out the when and the where, he's got to. Can't look back, doesn't want to, doesn't want to recognize what it would signify if he did turn back to look.
no subject
Date: 2008-12-21 04:43 am (UTC)Later there's a little down time, and Andrew digs out a demon compendium and starts going through the possible types, narrowing them down.
no subject
Date: 2008-12-21 10:11 am (UTC)He doesn't sleep all day. There was just something about that guy's voice, some strange, familiar but not quality to it, and if there's one thing Lorne's good at it's voices. It's what keeps him up, pacing the width and length of his penthouse; he knows voices. You can change all the rest, but your voice, now, that just doesn't change. Not unless your heart does.
Later that day, he turns on the TV for the background noise it provides; soccer scores galore.
It's a long shot, a veritable leap of stupidity and faith.
A pink note book.
Leather note book with pink paper glued to the back and front with something written on one side and a sketch on the other and it's Beckham, he knows it is (because how could he not know of the guy who more or less started metrosexuality)--
'Gandalf the White... Yoda knows...' All these references, one after the other and people think he never gives it a rest; that's when it hits him like a brick in the head.
"Wolfram and Hart. Wolfram-- Angel's friend."
no subject
Date: 2008-12-21 04:34 pm (UTC)Andrew's eyes widen.
Because he's encountered an atypical Pylean demon once before.
"Wolfram and Hart," he whispers to the book. "Angel's friend."