Crowley huffs out a short sussuration, air sliding over and around his tongue and curling up to break softly against the ceiling.
It's bright, sun-tinged daylight still treacling in and shepherding the shadows into small corners: angular shapes that gradually shift and change as time leaks slowly through the joins in the walls. At some point, he thinks about waving away the sheer scraps that pass for curtains, and replacing them with some heavy-duty blinds - but he doesn't. This is okay. It's warm, but not too warm, and it's not dark. Even the kind he can see in.
He counts the dust motes that, even in here, swirl and eddy in the light, accreting around the bedposts like little wheeling halos.
It's all the hyperstimulation, cumulative: Crowley feels like he's going to throw up again.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2009-08-25 03:18 pm (UTC)It's bright, sun-tinged daylight still treacling in and shepherding the shadows into small corners: angular shapes that gradually shift and change as time leaks slowly through the joins in the walls. At some point, he thinks about waving away the sheer scraps that pass for curtains, and replacing them with some heavy-duty blinds - but he doesn't. This is okay. It's warm, but not too warm, and it's not dark. Even the kind he can see in.
He counts the dust motes that, even in here, swirl and eddy in the light, accreting around the bedposts like little wheeling halos.
It's all the hyperstimulation, cumulative: Crowley feels like he's going to throw up again.