It felt like a dream. A nightmare; patently unusual. He despised sleep as a matter of course, but it seemed always to despise him too, never coming when wanted, always black and empty.
Not this.
His hand had snatched around the foul neck of one of the gibbering, strange-skinned imps while fending them off while they tugged at his suit. The twist came neat and clean behind the heat of his disoriented frustration, but the crack of bone was too real, the sound too familiar, too right. The others scattered at the sound, leaving him to straighten in the middle of the gala, eyes lifting to the crowd around him.
Some hideous themed party, disgustingly disorganised, none of the costumes made any sense... But his lucidity was growing, and for every flaw his cunning latched upon like a cat, plucking out logical fallacies in what might in fact be reality all in the mute moment he had straightened... a sense of dread began to well in him, faster and faster, like blood filling a cut.
"Take this, would you," he informed a passing server, setting the limp body of the imp on the near-empty surface of a silver tray. The other hand snatched a goblet from it, while the one recently divested of the imp waved the server impatiently away.
His face creased as he inspected both the goblet and its contents. And then the crowd again, hunting them for familiar faces. Or at the very least, someone else wearing something fucking sensible.
Frank Underwood » House of Cards » Unseelie
It felt like a dream. A nightmare; patently unusual. He despised sleep as a matter of course, but it seemed always to despise him too, never coming when wanted, always black and empty.
Not this.
His hand had snatched around the foul neck of one of the gibbering, strange-skinned imps while fending them off while they tugged at his suit. The twist came neat and clean behind the heat of his disoriented frustration, but the crack of bone was too real, the sound too familiar, too right. The others scattered at the sound, leaving him to straighten in the middle of the gala, eyes lifting to the crowd around him.
Some hideous themed party, disgustingly disorganised, none of the costumes made any sense... But his lucidity was growing, and for every flaw his cunning latched upon like a cat, plucking out logical fallacies in what might in fact be reality all in the mute moment he had straightened... a sense of dread began to well in him, faster and faster, like blood filling a cut.
"Take this, would you," he informed a passing server, setting the limp body of the imp on the near-empty surface of a silver tray. The other hand snatched a goblet from it, while the one recently divested of the imp waved the server impatiently away.
His face creased as he inspected both the goblet and its contents. And then the crowd again, hunting them for familiar faces. Or at the very least, someone else wearing something fucking sensible.