[It'd been a while since he'd had to shoot a dream, but not as long as he would've liked. There was always a chance he would pull something awful from his own dreams, a dragon or a horror amalgamation that needed to be disposed of before something terrible happened. But this hadn't been his dream.
His room was something of a wreck now, but he didn't really care. Everything in it was just a thing; he could replace or fix them. People were more important, and both himself and Elijah seemed unharmed. He wasn't looking at the mess though; he was looking at Elijah. At his scars, at the tattoos on his arms, the way the sword melted back into his skin. He had so many questions; he didn't know where to start. But there was a more pressing matter to take care of first.
Nodding, he put the gun down on the top of the dresser.]
Yeah.
[He opened a drawer, rifled through the contents, and pulled out an old band t-shirt, worn and soft, and held it out to Elijah.
He couldn't help but stare again, gaze flickering to his tattoos, particularly the Latin bit. Latin wasn't his best subject, but he thought he got the gist. He couldn't get the thought out of his head; Elijah was magic. He was magic. And Kavinsky might never have found out if this accident hadn't happened. He assumed it was an accident, at least. Unless Elijah had wanted to kill him with a fire and horrible creatures. He doubted it, though. It was a complicated way to kill someone; easier to just put a bullet in their head or something.]
Thanks for ruining my bed.
[But his tone was surprisingly light, more teasing than accusing.]
no subject
His room was something of a wreck now, but he didn't really care. Everything in it was just a thing; he could replace or fix them. People were more important, and both himself and Elijah seemed unharmed. He wasn't looking at the mess though; he was looking at Elijah. At his scars, at the tattoos on his arms, the way the sword melted back into his skin. He had so many questions; he didn't know where to start. But there was a more pressing matter to take care of first.
Nodding, he put the gun down on the top of the dresser.]
Yeah.
[He opened a drawer, rifled through the contents, and pulled out an old band t-shirt, worn and soft, and held it out to Elijah.
He couldn't help but stare again, gaze flickering to his tattoos, particularly the Latin bit. Latin wasn't his best subject, but he thought he got the gist. He couldn't get the thought out of his head; Elijah was magic. He was magic. And Kavinsky might never have found out if this accident hadn't happened. He assumed it was an accident, at least. Unless Elijah had wanted to kill him with a fire and horrible creatures. He doubted it, though. It was a complicated way to kill someone; easier to just put a bullet in their head or something.]
Thanks for ruining my bed.
[But his tone was surprisingly light, more teasing than accusing.]