the admiral!
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Summary
n. an important moment of insight, typically one that leads to a dramatic transformation of attitude or belief
Or, in which Tim becomes an avatar for the end of all things.
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Bookmarked by ivara
24 Mar 2020
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Bookmarker's Notes
A moment or an eternity later, Timothy Stoker gasped with lungs that did not exist, blinked against the light with eyes that were not there and, despite the refusal of contradiction in the not-place that killed him and the not-empty that held him, he became his own not-living contradiction in the living world.
..
Tim flipped him off, still staring hard at the ground and trying to convince his body that gravity didn’t apply anymore. “How was using spooky ghost magic to let things pass through my damn body easier than this?”
“Probably because that was more passive, yeah?” Martin replied, thoughtful.
“Ugh. Pain in the arse.”
“Take it up with Terminus, I guess.”
Tim glared at his right shoe. “Stop touching the floor.”
Immediately, he sank through the carpet up to his knees. Shit.
“Oh my g-d,” Martin choked through sudden laughter. “You look so betrayed!”
Tim snached the stress ball he’d left on the chair and threw it at Martin, smacking him right between the eyes. “Piss off, I don’t have a bloody ghost power manual!”
..
The woman in the bed sat propped against a large pillow, and though her black eyes were a little cloudy, they locked right onto him. She looked him up and down, and Tim could have sworn she was unimpressed. “No robe? No scythe?”
“Damn, I knew I forgot something at home.” Rolling with her humor came without a second thought, and when she laughed it settled something inside him.
“Can’t believe they sent me the rookie,” she replied with a tut and a shake of her head. “Not even a skeleton. What, am I supposed to go gently into that good night?”
Tim walked over and sat in the chair pulled close to her bed. She must have frequent visitors. The thought was warm.
“I’ll go try and work off the extra weight and come back, then?”
The woman swatted at his arm, and didn’t look at all troubled when her hand went right through. “Just run a few laps around the house and we’ll see. I don’t think I’ll make it however long it takes you to get mummified!”
..
Then Georgie’s warm, strong hand linked with his own, and everything fell apart.
..
The man himself sat at the desk. No doubt it had at one point faced the wall, but in his time here Elias turned it around so the chair faced the door and placed the desk between him and whoever came inside.
Just another office. Home away from home. Prick.
..
He popped the lid off the beer bottle in hand using the corner of the stone at his back, then upended it over the grave to his left.
“Happy birthday, Danny. You get the whole thing this year — can’t exactly drink my half.”
The cemetery had a strict no-alcohol policy, of course. It probably had a strict no-haunting policy as well, one that’d be just as well enforced.
..
As he crossed Whitmore Bridge for no reason other than that it was there and he could, someone came to walk next to him. It wasn’t the first time — when people barely registered his presence, the slight discomfort that came when matching pace with a stranger took longer to hit. Unlike those others, the man at his side showed none of that same avoidance that struck others near Tim. He walked, and his steps were silent.
Tim glanced over at him. “You’re dead.”
The man gave a sideways smile. “So are you.”
..
“What do you do when you try to go home and find that everything inside was rearranged?”
..
He needed Tim to go, he needed to be alone. He needed to be alone.
“I haven’t had to think about it, because no one is dying .”
“Right, that’s why you’re pulling all the same shit I did.” Tim knew how to fill a room both in voice and presence, and he didn’t hold back now. “I wrote the g-ddamn playbook for this move, and I’m not letting you charge off to get yourself killed!”
..
“Have we considered that all chihuahuas are avatars of the Slaughter? Because I think that’s worth discussing.”
“Desolation,” Basira replied with a thoughtful hum. “The Slaughter’s violent, but Desolation wants to hurt everything a person loves just for the joy of it.”
“She’s right.” Jon gave a solemn nod. “They— Wait…”
Static tugged his thoughts. Formed into shapes. Negative space, movement he couldn’t see, encroaching.
“Dark.” Basira’s face was grim. "Can you see around so we know where they’re coming from?”
“They’re— They’re still by the Thames —- crossing the bridge, no idea how many.”
Tim looked to Basira. “How do you want to take this?”
“You take perimeter, I hold the Institute.”
..
Melanie raised a hand. “Gotta know: how many beds?”
Before he reached them, another pull. Odd. This one tugged in the opposite direction.
Fine. Fine, he’d go to the first, then follow the second.
And a third came. A fourth.