[Husk has had a long fucking day. It's been miserable and terrifying and exhausting all in equal measure. He's been running on adrenaline and sheer bloody minded stubbornness for hours - ever since Alastor popped into his inbox. After checking the demon's story out, getting Shroud to verify it, warning his loved ones away and then spending time with the kids... Husk's about running on empty.
He flies to the lighthouse, as usual, welcoming the cold breeze in the air as he does so. It's sharp, even if he doesn't feel the cold, and he's glad for it. It's a reminder that he's alive and still fucking here. When he finally gets to the lighthouse, he doesn't enter right away - instead opting to sit on the top of it. He pulls his knees up to his chin, wraps his tail around his feet and folds his wings in close around himself, his ears pinned back on his head- for someone so damn tall, looking depressingly small.
Now he's finally letting himself stop, all the feelings he was trying to tamp down to survive the day are surging back. A hundred memories of what that fucker put him through clamouring for attention. Memories that, what? He just has to learn to live with now? That he has to figure out how to heal from with the fucker actively in the city? Worse, he's supposed to figure out how to exist as a completely free agent, without threat of those chains going around his throat again?
He really wants a drink. That's the prevailing feeling surging through everything. Flins has plenty of vodka inside. He could just open up a bottle or two or three and drink until he doesn't feel anything anymore. That's how he always dealt with Alastor in his past life. Just drink until the sweet siren song of oblivion took him under. He wants that so badly now. And maybe he should. If his reward for three months of sobriety was this, maybe he should just throw in the towel, call it a bad show. He realises, belatedly, that his hands are shaking.
He doesn't throw in the towel, though. Instead, he goes back to staring out at the sea, watching the movement of the tide, trying to time his breathing with the swell of the waves- trying to find some measure of peace from them.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Action: I promised you a brick, this one is giftwrapped
Date: 2025-12-22 07:32 pm (UTC)He flies to the lighthouse, as usual, welcoming the cold breeze in the air as he does so. It's sharp, even if he doesn't feel the cold, and he's glad for it. It's a reminder that he's alive and still fucking here. When he finally gets to the lighthouse, he doesn't enter right away - instead opting to sit on the top of it. He pulls his knees up to his chin, wraps his tail around his feet and folds his wings in close around himself, his ears pinned back on his head- for someone so damn tall, looking depressingly small.
Now he's finally letting himself stop, all the feelings he was trying to tamp down to survive the day are surging back. A hundred memories of what that fucker put him through clamouring for attention. Memories that, what? He just has to learn to live with now? That he has to figure out how to heal from with the fucker actively in the city? Worse, he's supposed to figure out how to exist as a completely free agent, without threat of those chains going around his throat again?
He really wants a drink. That's the prevailing feeling surging through everything. Flins has plenty of vodka inside. He could just open up a bottle or two or three and drink until he doesn't feel anything anymore. That's how he always dealt with Alastor in his past life. Just drink until the sweet siren song of oblivion took him under. He wants that so badly now. And maybe he should. If his reward for three months of sobriety was this, maybe he should just throw in the towel, call it a bad show. He realises, belatedly, that his hands are shaking.
He doesn't throw in the towel, though. Instead, he goes back to staring out at the sea, watching the movement of the tide, trying to time his breathing with the swell of the waves- trying to find some measure of peace from them.
Jesus, fuck, today has been a shitshow. ]