![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Title: A Candle For The Darkness
Author: Sherlockian
"You're the light that keeps the darkness at bay," he said.
"What?" I said. Master of the witty retort-- that's me. Marcone just gave me a dry look, expression bland, as though he wasn't thinking I was a complete idiot. He was, though, he could quite hide the amusement in his eyes.
If I could have chosen anyone to be stuck in a dark basement with, Gentleman Johnnie Marcone would have been about third from the bottom-- right above Queen Mab and right below a hungry alligator. At least the alligator wouldn't talk.
I checked to make sure the wards were still sealed. The candle that I'd used as an anchor flickered a little, but was only about halfway burned, so we had a couple of hours more, at least. It also meant that the demon out there probably wasn't screwing with Marcone's head. Which meant he was probably screwing with my head.
Marcone leaned back against the wall, with only the slightest wince of discomfort. He'd broken a few bones, I was sure, but he waved away the help I'd reluctantly offered. "That's a bit melodramatic," he said thoughtfully. "And you've always been the dramatic type. Maybe I should let you handle the melodrama from now on." His eyes half-closed, but he watched me from under his lashes. His eyes were dark.
Too dark. "John," I asked, "when did you hit your head?"
"Don't call me--" he sighed. "Probably about the time it threw me into a wall and I cracked a rib. I'm fine."
"You have a concussion," I told him.
"Well, I guess you'll have to find a way to break through the darkness-demon outside so I can get to a hospital. Do you think this will help?" He slid something long and heavy across the floor to me. A flashlight. "Or do you think you'll break that too?"
Break one little cellphone (and about twenty security cameras, and a couple of semi automatics) and the guy thinks he's got your number. Even with a concussion, Marcone was a pain in the ass.
Author: Sherlockian
"You're the light that keeps the darkness at bay," he said.
"What?" I said. Master of the witty retort-- that's me. Marcone just gave me a dry look, expression bland, as though he wasn't thinking I was a complete idiot. He was, though, he could quite hide the amusement in his eyes.
If I could have chosen anyone to be stuck in a dark basement with, Gentleman Johnnie Marcone would have been about third from the bottom-- right above Queen Mab and right below a hungry alligator. At least the alligator wouldn't talk.
I checked to make sure the wards were still sealed. The candle that I'd used as an anchor flickered a little, but was only about halfway burned, so we had a couple of hours more, at least. It also meant that the demon out there probably wasn't screwing with Marcone's head. Which meant he was probably screwing with my head.
Marcone leaned back against the wall, with only the slightest wince of discomfort. He'd broken a few bones, I was sure, but he waved away the help I'd reluctantly offered. "That's a bit melodramatic," he said thoughtfully. "And you've always been the dramatic type. Maybe I should let you handle the melodrama from now on." His eyes half-closed, but he watched me from under his lashes. His eyes were dark.
Too dark. "John," I asked, "when did you hit your head?"
"Don't call me--" he sighed. "Probably about the time it threw me into a wall and I cracked a rib. I'm fine."
"You have a concussion," I told him.
"Well, I guess you'll have to find a way to break through the darkness-demon outside so I can get to a hospital. Do you think this will help?" He slid something long and heavy across the floor to me. A flashlight. "Or do you think you'll break that too?"
Break one little cellphone (and about twenty security cameras, and a couple of semi automatics) and the guy thinks he's got your number. Even with a concussion, Marcone was a pain in the ass.
