Friday, August 22, 2008
Idaho's home
8:46 AM | Posted by
Warwriter Widow
Idaho knew better than to walk into the apartment with a "Honey, I'm home!" He knew she wouldn't be there, just like she wasn't for the past few weeks.
He sighed as he shut the door and locked it. It was partially his fault, not being around much anymore. He has his own abilities to work with now, using his fire abilities to heal instead of hurt. He knew that she had darkness about her, similar to Twisted Twilight, and he'd overlooked that, though it made him uncomfortable.
The apartment was four yawning rooms, too big for us now, he thought, now that we're never home. But it was good to have a place to come home to, not to sleep in the D, in one of the abandoned houses at King's Row or at the hostel in the southern end of Steel Canyon. He went into the kitchen area, to look in the probably empty refrigerator to see if there was anything to eat.
As he expected, it was empty except for two tubs of something with white fur and a half gallon of milk that he didn't dare open. He saw the glimpse of a bottle of beer in the way back, but he kept that there as a reminder of what he almost started to do. He almost spent most of his time at the D, almost became a permanent fixture there. That's why he went to Boston, to escape the alcohol and heroing. When he found that Masonry had let Ariel die again, he returned only once, and thought that heroing was no longer his place. So he stayed in Boston and grew addicted to ink instead of booze. It wasn't until Ariel returned to life, that she would hero again under a different guise, that he decided to also return once again and mimic her, by becoming what was known as a fire-user.
He closed the refrigerator, walking across to a cupboard. He thought he heard a noise from the bedroom.
Idaho tilted his head, wondering if he could hear it again. He went to the doorway of the bedroom.
Ariel lay there, tangled in the bedsheets, one stockinged foot sticking out from the bottom of the bed. He looked at her and smiled; she didn't even have time to get her clothes off before collapsing into the bed.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, listening to her light snoring, and he bent down to whisper, "Honey, I'm home."
He sighed as he shut the door and locked it. It was partially his fault, not being around much anymore. He has his own abilities to work with now, using his fire abilities to heal instead of hurt. He knew that she had darkness about her, similar to Twisted Twilight, and he'd overlooked that, though it made him uncomfortable.
The apartment was four yawning rooms, too big for us now, he thought, now that we're never home. But it was good to have a place to come home to, not to sleep in the D, in one of the abandoned houses at King's Row or at the hostel in the southern end of Steel Canyon. He went into the kitchen area, to look in the probably empty refrigerator to see if there was anything to eat.
As he expected, it was empty except for two tubs of something with white fur and a half gallon of milk that he didn't dare open. He saw the glimpse of a bottle of beer in the way back, but he kept that there as a reminder of what he almost started to do. He almost spent most of his time at the D, almost became a permanent fixture there. That's why he went to Boston, to escape the alcohol and heroing. When he found that Masonry had let Ariel die again, he returned only once, and thought that heroing was no longer his place. So he stayed in Boston and grew addicted to ink instead of booze. It wasn't until Ariel returned to life, that she would hero again under a different guise, that he decided to also return once again and mimic her, by becoming what was known as a fire-user.
He closed the refrigerator, walking across to a cupboard. He thought he heard a noise from the bedroom.
Idaho tilted his head, wondering if he could hear it again. He went to the doorway of the bedroom.
Ariel lay there, tangled in the bedsheets, one stockinged foot sticking out from the bottom of the bed. He looked at her and smiled; she didn't even have time to get her clothes off before collapsing into the bed.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, listening to her light snoring, and he bent down to whisper, "Honey, I'm home."
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1 comments:
Ha! She would do that, wrapped up her robes. ever the perpetual hero.