Leap of Faith, Part I
May. 16th, 2024 11:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerMain Points:
Assassin's Creed/The Secret World
Summary: That didn't exactly turn out the way Desmond planned.
Word Count: 665
Rating: Teen
“You are an imbecile of the highest order, I’ll have you know.” Desmond knows the voice, but the migraine pounding through his skull right now hurts a little too much for his brain to do much of anything useful, like put a name to anyone or muster up any sort of coherent response. He just kind of groans instead.
The voice doesn’t take the hint, just keeps ranting. Maybe even a bit louder, now. “This is the equivalent of a milk run. Most people, if they’re going to make a mistake, walk into the lasers. Occasionally fail with the janitor. At some point, they’ll have covered the entire town with cameras. But oh no, you just had to feel special—”
Thinking hurts. Breathing hurts. Sound hurts. The light? That also hurts. It’s an effort, and it takes a bit, but the Assassin finally puts together that that’s Shaun. Berating him, which is nothing new, but Old Shaun definitely wouldn’t have a slight shake in his voice as he was doing that.
“Mind keeping it down a bit?” he finally manages, and ugh he doesn’t sound good even to himself. Maybe he should just curl back up into a ball and lay there in misery with Shaun’s scolding as a particularly messed up lullaby. “And maybe telling me how I’m supposed to concentrate on the healing with a migraine?”
Belatedly, when the silence drags on, he realizes he probably wasn’t supposed to mention that, given that he’d gotten the weirdest looks picking up painkillers as it was (in Seoul, they didn’t even have them in Agartha and he wasn’t going back to London or New York for very different reasons), but he’s too wrung out to really think this through. Which is probably really dangerous, honestly, he should probably stop talking, but he just—it’ll make them worry and there’ll probably be a search party and honestly thinking this through is almost more effort than he can manage.
“Bloody hell, what did the Dragon do to you?” Shaun did actually lower his voice. That’s nice. He’s definitely started thinking, though. “Or was it even the Dragon…?”
It’s mostly to himself. Desmond should say something, sidetrack him at least for a bit, but even attempting to sit up makes him whimper. Which apparently does the trick, because at a pace that is patient for Shaun, the Assassin is walked through a spell that should help. And then another one, when that doesn’t work. The anger is mostly frustration and a little bit of worry, Desmond suspects. Everything hurts, but it’s back to a dull ache, and he doesn’t feel like he’s going to hurl the second he tries to move again. Which is an improvement. He never thought he’d be missing the Bleeding Effect, but it’d been pretty useful teaching him how to keep working when his head felt like it was going to split open. He’s really out of practice.
Rebecca’s the one who explains the nice attitude (further than just Shaun’s guilt). “Spells basically said you were dead. We’re guessing your body just shut down into a healing coma, rather than just sending you on a trip to the Anima Well.” She’s not actually voicing the ‘why’ out loud, or, you know, the part where Shaun was probably losing his shit, which is polite of her. Desmond’s just going to ignore it, then. At some point it’ll all build up and they will corner him and insist he answers all their questions, but. He’ll put that off and attempt to brainstorm. He does have the added advantage of knowing them better than he should, so he should be able to come up with something.
And, like—there’s no sign of James Morris. No body. No sign he’d run away (like there really was much of anywhere to hide, in here). And he hadn’t finished the job while Desmond was out of it and unable to resist, so. Who even knows what happened there, unfortunately.
Assassin's Creed/The Secret World
Summary: That didn't exactly turn out the way Desmond planned.
Word Count: 665
Rating: Teen
“You are an imbecile of the highest order, I’ll have you know.” Desmond knows the voice, but the migraine pounding through his skull right now hurts a little too much for his brain to do much of anything useful, like put a name to anyone or muster up any sort of coherent response. He just kind of groans instead.
The voice doesn’t take the hint, just keeps ranting. Maybe even a bit louder, now. “This is the equivalent of a milk run. Most people, if they’re going to make a mistake, walk into the lasers. Occasionally fail with the janitor. At some point, they’ll have covered the entire town with cameras. But oh no, you just had to feel special—”
Thinking hurts. Breathing hurts. Sound hurts. The light? That also hurts. It’s an effort, and it takes a bit, but the Assassin finally puts together that that’s Shaun. Berating him, which is nothing new, but Old Shaun definitely wouldn’t have a slight shake in his voice as he was doing that.
“Mind keeping it down a bit?” he finally manages, and ugh he doesn’t sound good even to himself. Maybe he should just curl back up into a ball and lay there in misery with Shaun’s scolding as a particularly messed up lullaby. “And maybe telling me how I’m supposed to concentrate on the healing with a migraine?”
Belatedly, when the silence drags on, he realizes he probably wasn’t supposed to mention that, given that he’d gotten the weirdest looks picking up painkillers as it was (in Seoul, they didn’t even have them in Agartha and he wasn’t going back to London or New York for very different reasons), but he’s too wrung out to really think this through. Which is probably really dangerous, honestly, he should probably stop talking, but he just—it’ll make them worry and there’ll probably be a search party and honestly thinking this through is almost more effort than he can manage.
“Bloody hell, what did the Dragon do to you?” Shaun did actually lower his voice. That’s nice. He’s definitely started thinking, though. “Or was it even the Dragon…?”
It’s mostly to himself. Desmond should say something, sidetrack him at least for a bit, but even attempting to sit up makes him whimper. Which apparently does the trick, because at a pace that is patient for Shaun, the Assassin is walked through a spell that should help. And then another one, when that doesn’t work. The anger is mostly frustration and a little bit of worry, Desmond suspects. Everything hurts, but it’s back to a dull ache, and he doesn’t feel like he’s going to hurl the second he tries to move again. Which is an improvement. He never thought he’d be missing the Bleeding Effect, but it’d been pretty useful teaching him how to keep working when his head felt like it was going to split open. He’s really out of practice.
Rebecca’s the one who explains the nice attitude (further than just Shaun’s guilt). “Spells basically said you were dead. We’re guessing your body just shut down into a healing coma, rather than just sending you on a trip to the Anima Well.” She’s not actually voicing the ‘why’ out loud, or, you know, the part where Shaun was probably losing his shit, which is polite of her. Desmond’s just going to ignore it, then. At some point it’ll all build up and they will corner him and insist he answers all their questions, but. He’ll put that off and attempt to brainstorm. He does have the added advantage of knowing them better than he should, so he should be able to come up with something.
And, like—there’s no sign of James Morris. No body. No sign he’d run away (like there really was much of anywhere to hide, in here). And he hadn’t finished the job while Desmond was out of it and unable to resist, so. Who even knows what happened there, unfortunately.
