![]() And as great as Dream was, he was no Wilbur. He'd done it before – seen it done on purpose and fixed by one of the smartest men he knew. The sickly sweet of melon pulse and magic was going to turn poison, and it'd smell even worse than it already did. …he was going to spoil the batch, at this rate. The sharp fizz in the air and the gravelly grind of the pestle betrayed the redstone for what it was, even though the man had already added some to the stand earlier. His spine was straight, knees bent like a bench, and he was focussed wholly on the mortar on his knee. Run a hand through his hair and tell him it was going to be okay that he was going to make everything better.ĭream didn't look up. No, Dream had just dragged him back, emptied out his inventory onto the beach, sat down and started brewing, facing his back to the forest like it didn't matter.Ī part of him hoped that– well, he didn’t quite know what it hoped. Tommy hadn’t said anything this time, not since they came into the Overworld at least, so he was pretty sure he hadn't said anything bad either, but neither had Dream. Make way for something robotic to take the reins and keep working. Tommy would say something wrong and he’d go blank – disappear. Tu– an old friend (was he?) used to do that. He’d– he’d terrified Dream earlier shocked his friend into dead silence. The need to chance a glance beyond the flames even as he had to force down a flinch. He scraped his face against his forearm anyway, careful to mind his wounds and the shards poking out of them, and, when his pulse finally started to settle, peeked over the top of it. Too dry – they must have been, because they kept tearing up and Tommy didn’t cry never had. He watched as the cloud settled, traceless, and his eyes were dry. Toward the ocean licking up the shore some short distance away. Tommy’s heart squeezed a breath out of him, blowing the pile of white sand from his fist and scattering it to the gentle dunes of the beach. He could feel pain and the dust burned his insides and there was a bell paused mid-peal in the back of his head and his father said– But he could smell the dusty saccharine of blaze powder he could feel pain. He didn’t feel particularly afraid, or excited, or– well, anything, really. It was like he’d just come out the other end of a stampede, tried to hobble to safety, and fell off a cliff instead. Last man standing kristin skin#His body ached in streaks and bruises, not an inch of skin left unclaimed by blood or injury, and his bones were both the heaviest he'd ever known them and the most delicate they'd ever been. To grow, maybe, like fungus on a corpse to feel like he’d been salted, not carefully wiped down with warmed drinking water.Īs it was, he’d only gotten one out of three. He’d expected to sweat, ruining the efforts of the sponge bath he’d just gotten, and he’d expected the sting of his raw wounds to persist. He’d expected to be too-warm on all sides. But when Dream had chucked down a campfire and told him to dry off, he’d expected the heat to. Tommy had been “too hot” before – Nether hot, to be exact, where ice disappeared in flashes of steam instead of melting where only the viscous, sulphur-tainted stink of magic weighing the air kept players from doing much the same – and this wasn’t even half as bad. Stats: Published: Words: 9222 Chapters: 1/1 Comments: 17 Kudos: 157 Bookmarks: 29 Hits: 1611
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Details
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |