And we'll run for our lives...

Mar 01, 2008 18:52

Descant is  back.

He looks as bad as one can expect from someone whose been out of the hotel for almost two days, especially since he was out and about when the earthquake hit. He's covered in dirt and blood (not much of it is his) and the expression on his face is hollow, vacant, although more tired than anything.

What he needs is a warm shower and a bed, but that would require more energy and he's spent whatever bit of his stamnia he had left getting back down to the basement, so really all he can do is land facedown on a couch and hope no one minds him getting the upholstery dirty. Later, he'll drag himself back to his room and probably stay there for a day or so... Or forever. He's not entirely sure. For right now, he likes the couch. The couch is a friend.

His mind, unfortunately, is not, as it keeps playing him violent images of what he's been staring at for the past two days. It's no worse than anything else he's seen in his obscenely long life, but to say that things like that don't affect him even when he's seen everything would be an unfair assumption.

martha jones, desmond descant, revan onasi, kara kendricks

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